


Falter

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bad Poetry, Bees?, Dom/sub, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hate Crimes, Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, almost canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's head over heels for a mage but struggling with lyrium withdrawal. Dorian's just looking for a tumble and suffering from culture shock. Andraste's ass, why is nothing ever easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Singing Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> Meant for this to be a one-shot but it quickly spiraled out of control. Well. These things happen. ALSO: update! Apparently this has become a dom!Dorian/sub!Cullen thing. So. You've been warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen find themselves unable to sleep.

The frustrating thing about having an unsurpassed intellect, Dorian decided, is that it came with vivid recall. Memories would play themselves out with perfect clarity in his mind given the slightest provocation. The final bit of invective hurled at him by his father was a favorite moment, as was the look on Alexius’ face when Dorian refused to join the Venatori. Delightful recollections that toyed with him as he tried to sleep.

Recently, however, a new memory had begun to make the rounds. He’d meant to make a grand entrance into the Inquisition, and he certainly did that: barging into the war room in Haven, dramatically throwing open both doors and strutting in as if he owned the place. Would’ve been stupendous, really, except for the fact that the first thing he saw when he opened the doors was not the Herald, but Commander Cullen.

Dorian’s steps had faltered slightly, and perhaps a bit of a stammer had made its way into his grand proclamation of assistance. He’d not expected the Commander to be quite so handsome. It wasn’t so much Cullen’s good looks that gave Dorian pause, but the look on his face. His gorgeous amber eyes had widened slightly when Dorian entered, and then settled into an unreadable expression. Dorian had now spent far too long trying to determine what that look meant. So far he’d identified possible annoyance (understandable), distrust (also expected), but there was something else. Discomfort? Disgust? Whatever that other emotion was, it galled Dorian to no end.

A good portion of his unease came from his precarious position in the Inquisition. Dorian was very aware that he was there only through the good graces of the Herald; her trust in him was all that kept him from being set loose in the wilds of Ferelden. Their adventure through time in Redcliffe was enough to secure her trust, but she was not the leader of the Inquisition, merely its figurehead. Seeing an expression of doubt on Commander Cullen’s face was worrying.

Also, if Dorian was being honest with himself, which he almost never was, he hated the idea of someone not liking him. Childish, but true.

The memory continued to unspool in his mind as he lay in his cot in Haven. “Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” Dorian’s words were meant to be a statement, but they had come out more as a plea.

Cullen’s eyes had narrowed slightly and he turned away. He did not respond to Dorian, but to the Herald, as if Dorian hadn’t spoken at all.

Dorian rolled over and shoved his pillow to a more comfortable position. The world was ending, and all he could think about was the look on Cullen’s face? What was he, fifteen? He gave up trying to sleep and made his way to the tavern. Wine would surely help, even if it was one of the abysmal vintages available in the Maker-forsaken south.

It was still relatively early, only a few hours after sunset. The tavern in Haven was loud, but not yet rowdy. The volume decreased noticeably when Dorian opened the door, although not nearly as much as the deafening silence which had accompanied his first visit. The ‘Vint was becoming old news.

Trevelyan was there, having a pint with the Iron Bull and Varric. She waved Dorian over with a smile.

“If it isn’t my second-favorite ‘Vint,” Bull grinned. “How’re those cold footsies?”

“Unbearable,” Dorian sighed. “The frostbite seems permanent. If only I had someone to share my cold cot.” He batted his eyelashes at Bull.

Trevelyan snorted with laughter. “Sorry, Dorian. I’m staking a claim on Bull’s foot-warming duties tonight.” She nudged Bull with her elbow.

“Ah well,” Dorian sighed in mock despair. He looked at Varric.

“Not a chance, Sparkler.”

“Then what’s the point of all that chest hair, Varric?” Dorian sighed again. A barmaid dropped off fresh tankards for the others. “I’ll have whatever vinegar you claim is wine,” he said. “Just bring the bottle, there’s a good girl.”

A few moments later, Cullen walked in. He was paler than usual, though the swirling snow had tinted the tip of his nose pink. He made his way over the table. “Might there be room for one more?”

“Always room for you, Commander,” Dorian said with a grand wave of his hand. The mage shifted on the bench. Dorian decided that the best way to deal with his unrequited attraction and uncertain standing with Cullen was to flirt outrageously every chance he got. After all, why should Dorian be the only one that was uncomfortable? He knew it was petty, but it was also a great deal of fun.

“How goes the training of the new recruits?” Trevelyan asked.

“I wish I had better news, Herald.” Cullen said, sitting next to Dorian. “Although _most_ of them have stopped cutting themselves on their own swords.”

“You’re too modest,” she said. “I watched you today, you know. They’re doing quite well. We’d be lost without you, I hope you know that.” She reached over and patted his arm.

Cullen jerked away from her as if he’d been burned. “Ah, yes, well, that is.... Thank you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting from Evelyn’s and away again.

 _So that’s how it is,_ Dorian thought to himself. _Too bad._ It wasn’t the first time Dorian had seen the Commander become bashful in the Herald’s presence, but this was the first time he’d seen it up close. Clearly he was infatuated with her. She was a very beautiful woman, after all.

“Yes, it’s true,” Dorian said, covering the moment. “Without you around, the overall level of male attractiveness would dip considerably, Commander. I’d have to carry the entire Inquisition on my back in that regard. Well,” he said, thinking about it. “Myself and Krem, of course.”

The Commander blushed a deep scarlet. Varric spluttered, laughing into his tankard. “Maker forbid the only two Tevinters in the Inquisition have to carry such a terrible burden.”

Evelyn was laughing so hard she was gasping for breath. “What about Bull?” she said to Dorian.

“Yeah, what about me?” Bull frowned.

Dorian shook his head sadly. “Much as I appreciate the... physique,” he said, giving Bull a long once-over, “In terms of hair, we’ve just got you beat. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” He held up his hands sadly.

“Lucky for me I’m not into hair,” the Herald said. “Come on, Bull. My feet are getting cold.” She rose.

“I’ll just leave you _handsome gents_ to make your way back to your cold, lonely beds,” Bull smirked as Trevelyan led him away.

“I think I’m calling it a night too,” Varric said, draining his tankard. “I’ll see you gentlemen in the morning.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Cullen asked Dorian. There was an odd tone to his voice, a hint of desperation. For the first time, the mage noticed the shadows under the Commander’s eyes.

Vishante kaffas. _If I’m to spend my time thinking of the man’s face, I might as well be looking at it,_ Dorian thought. Aloud, he said, “And let this perfectly awful wine go to waste?” Dorian smiled. “Not a chance.”

Cullen shifted around to the other side of the table. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

“Trouble sleeping, Commander?” Dorian sipped his wine.

“Yes, quite. I’d... rather not discuss it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder in the direction that Trevelyan had gone.

 _Quite, indeed,_ Dorian thought. “As you wish.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, myself. Can’t get a certain face out of my head,” Dorian smirked.

“Do you mean Felix? Alexius’ son?” Cullen’s face bore his concern. “I’d heard he was ill. A friend of yours, I gather?”

Hearing the name yanked the mage up short and his smile dimmed. “That’s not the face I meant, Commander,” Dorian acknowledged. “But yes. Felix and I were very close.”

“How close?” Cullen’s voice had an edge to it. His question carried more weight than the two words implied, as if he wanted to hear a specific answer. Or, as Dorian thought more likely, _didn’t_ want to hear.

Dorian sighed. So it was like that. Apparently the South was not as accepting as he’d thought. He clenched his jaw. “Not that close, if I glean your implication correctly, Commander.” His voice was sharp, bitter. He scraped the wood of the table with a fingernail.

“I’m sorry, I....” The words were laced with confusion and hurt. Now it was Cullen’s turn to stare down at the table. The Commander was shaking his head slightly. “I did not mean to... I did not mean to upset you,” Cullen said. He sighed sadly. “Fatigue is getting the better of me, I think. I appear to not be very good company tonight.”

“Nonsense.” The polite demur was automatic; Cullen was right, he was horrible company. However, Dorian had far too many manners to admit it. “You’re just tired.”

Dorian watched as relief washed across Cullen’s face; apparently the man was unaware that Dorian was speaking in platitudes. He began the process of removing himself from the premises. “However, I am also very tire-”

“Tell me of Minrathous,” Cullen interrupted hurriedly. “I... I’ve never been.”

“I’d be surprised if you had, Commander.” Dorian looked very carefully at Cullen. The man was desperate for company, that much was clear. He had a haunted look. Dorian took pity on him. “Minrathous. It’s... magnificent and terrible in equal measure. Crossing the bridge, the Juggernauts’ eyes seem to follow you, Servani’s stars ablaze across their armor. I’ve passed under them a thousand times, and each time is as awe-inspiring as the first.”

Dorian continued to speak of the crumbling buildings and pockets of glory, the bustling ports and the desperate refugees. Cullen sat across from him, his eyes trained on the mage’s face, though his gaze was far away. Eventually, his chin was in his hand, and his eyes fought to stay open.

It was utterly adorable, watching the Commander fall asleep as if Dorian was telling him a bedtime story. The man clearly needed the rest. Dorian let his voice get quieter and quieter, and eventually he stopped speaking altogether. Asleep, Cullen looked ten years younger, which, Dorian realized, was probably closer to his actual age than he appeared during the day.

Dorian leaned back, sipping his wine. He did not have to wait long. Cullen’s chin fell out of his hand and he awoke with a snort. “Maker’s breath,” he chided himself. “Ser Pavus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to... your voice is very soothing,” he said, chancing a glance at the mage.

“Is it? No one’s ever mentioned it before. And please, call me Dorian, Commander.” He smiled.

“Dorian, then,” Cullen said, nodding.

“I believe it might be time to clear out,” Dorian said. He rose and stretched. “Flissa has been giving us the stink eye for quite some time.”

Cullen also rose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course.” He held the door open for Dorian as they made their way back into the swirling snow. They trudged back up the path. At the fork, Cullen turned to head to the chantry. “Ser Pav-, Dorian,” he corrected himself. “Thank you for....” he frowned slightly. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Dorian thought the man might say something else, but then Cullen turned and trudged up the steps.

“What an odd man,” Dorian said to himself. “Beautiful, but odd.”

***

Cullen signed the last report and shoved into the pile with the others. He rubbed his eyes until spots appeared behind his eyelids. Once again, he’d worked well past sunset. Training the troops was his top priority, and he spent much of the day directly overseeing the exercises. This left him little time for paperwork, which always managed to pile up like snowdrifts. Perhaps Trevelyan would see her way to appointing a clerk for him. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.

The headache had returned, as it always did. Right at the nape of the neck, an ache that spread through his skull and down his shoulders as his body demanded the lyrium he denied. He was utterly exhausted, but laying down now? It would only mean tossing and turning for hours until the nightmares took over. Just like every other night. He headed to the Singing Maiden.

The Herald was there with Bull, Varric, and.... Maker’s breath, _he_ was there too. Looking just as magnificent as he had when he walked into the War Room those weeks ago, brave and confident and _Maker,_ how Cullen had fought for breath, not trusting himself to speak directly to him, barely controlling his expression. _So that’s what a mage should be,_ he’d thought. _An inspiration, not a source of fear. Incredible._ Cullen took a deep breath, swallowing his apprehension as he walked over to the group. “Room for one more?”

Dorian made some sort of grand proclamation and allowed Cullen to sit next to him. When the Commander turned his head to the side he could smell Dorian’s scent, an exotic musky spice. He quickly turned to face across the table.

The Herald was speaking to him, something about training. She reached across the table and patted his arm. Maker’s breath, this was the last thing he needed. He pulled his arm away awkwardly.

And then Dorian was talking. About Cullen, about his looks. _He thinks you’re handsome. Is that possible?_ No, no clearly the man was making a joke. Everyone was laughing, after all. Cullen chuckled a bit as well. Seemed the thing to do.

It was good to be around laughter. Cullen missed the camaraderie that the Herald’s companions seemed to enjoy. He envied them, going on field missions, fighting alongside one another. Leading the troops was desperately lonely in comparison.

Trevelyan and Bull were leaving. And Varric. Cullen found himself asking Dorian to stay, the words tumbling out before he could help himself. Maker’s breath, what was he _doing?_

But Dorian stayed. Cullen found himself distracted by the mustache. And then the lips. And the jawline. And the hollow of his throat. He forced himself back to the conversation.

“- Can’t get a certain face out of my head,” Dorian was saying.

“Do you mean Felix? Alexius’ son?” Cullen blinked. That would make sense. If Alexius’ had been Dorian’s teacher, it would stand to reason that he was close to Felix.

“That’s not the face I meant, Commander,” Dorian said. “But yes. Felix and I were very close.”

“How close?” Again, the Commander berated himself. Dorian’s affairs were none of his business.

“Not that close, if I glean your implication correctly, Commander.”

Cullen felt his stomach clench as he heard the anger, the bitterness behind the words. “I’m sorry, I....” _Just stop talking. You’re only making it worse. Leave it._ “I appear to not be very good company tonight.”

“Nonsense,” Dorian said.

Cullen relaxed, chancing a look at the mage. _He’s getting ready to leave._

“Tell me of Minrathous,” Cullen blurted. “I... I’ve never been.”

Dorian was looking at him, really looking now. Cullen felt his skin burning under the scrutiny. Nevertheless, the mage began to speak, his sonorous voice painting a picture of the foreign, exotic city.

Cullen was entranced. The fatigue and ale and warmth had eased the ache in his neck and head. He was tired; he knew he should go, but there was nothing in Thedas that would rip him away from the sound of Dorian’s voice at that moment.

The sensation of falling jerked him awake. Maker’s breath. Had he really fallen asleep at the table, like a child? Perhaps he could discover yet _another_ way to embarrass himself this evening.

He followed Dorian out of the empty tavern. Time to wrest a few hours of sleep before the pain made it impossible to continue. Cullen refused to allow himself to even consider asking Dorian to join him in his quarters. He’d humiliated himself so thoroughly already, why add insult to injury? He stammered an awkward thanks and tromped to his cold bed, not waiting for a response.


	2. First Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen suffers through the Frostbacks. Dorian challenges him to a game of chess.

Cullen could have lived without finding out why the Frostback Mountains got their name. It seemed obvious enough; direct, firsthand experience with the biting cold was not necessary to confirm the accuracy of the moniker.

By some miracle, the Herald had returned from certain death. For the last two days, Trevelyan and Solas had led the group of refugees through the mountains, towards some unknown, vaguely defined sanctuary. The camp had been established for the night, tents clustered around the fires that kept them all alive.

Cullen sat near one such blaze, staring into the flames. The journey through the mountains had not been kind to Commander Cullen. The inescapable cold seemed to exacerbate his lyrium withdrawal. The ache was now constant, occasionally peppered with spikes of agony. Between the pain, the cold, and the endless stream of details requiring his attention, his previously-limited sleep was now all but eliminated. His only source of relief was at the hands of Seeker Cassandra. By accident, he had discovered that her ability to suppress magic mitigated the pain somewhat. He’d been standing next to her during the attack on Haven when she used the skill on a nearby Venatori. The relief was palpable, if only for a few seconds.

Since then, he’d relied on her to get to sleep. Cassandra would focus her ability for a few moments once he laid down for the night. Cullen was so exhausted that even a short break from the pain was enough to allow his body to fade into slumber.

He stared into the fire, waiting for enough time to pass for him to once again ask Cassandra for assistance. He knew it wouldn’t work for much longer. His body was becoming accustomed; the relief was less each time. Still, what choice did he have? Solas had assured them that their destination would be reached the following day. Perhaps, once they were settled into this mysterious keep and out of the blasted cold, his body would begin to right itself.

A body passed between Cullen and the fire. Cullen caught a whiff of exotic spice from the silhouette. Oh sweet Maker, what did _he_ want?

Dorian sat beside him on the frozen ground. “I owe you an apology, Commander,” Dorian said.

Cullen frowned. “I doubt it. That implies that you’ve wronged me somehow. Unless you and Sera put a nug in my bedroll?”

Dorian laughed. “I solemnly swear that I have not been involved in any nug-related tomfoolery.” He laid a hand over his heart. “I shouldn’t have argued with you in Haven, when we were under attack. You are the Commander and I am merely... a mage. I forgot my place. I should not have distracted you.”

Cullen gave a mirthless chuckle, looking down into his lap. “I don’t think you’ll ever qualify as ‘merely a mage’, Dorian. If you distracted me, it wasn’t because of your words. Military leaders should be open to insight from a variety of sources. When you stop listening to the opposition, you’re on the wrong path.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker, I’m tired.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “So I _am_ a distraction, then?”

“What?” Cullen’s head snapped up.

“You just said I distracted you, Commander. More or less. Is it my inimitable charm? Dashing good looks? Impeccable fashion sense?” Dorian grinned.

“Oh, Maker’s breath, I didn’t mean....” Cullen shook his head helplessly. He was caught. Dorian knew, somehow had gleaned that Cullen wanted him, indeed wanted him so badly that the ache in his chest sometimes drowned out the pain in his neck. He’d tried to be careful, but apparently his attraction was that obvious. Yet another failure. Wonderful. Just add it to the list. “Yes,” he admitted. “All of it.” He braced himself for the inevitable awkward rejection. Maker, when would it be time to sleep?

Dorian laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I knew you were a man of good taste. You must be very relieved that your Herald is returned to you.”

_“My_ Herald? How do you mean?” Cullen looked at him in confusion.

“Oh, come come, Commander. You’re as bashful as a fennec around Evelyn. It’s really quite charming. She is a handsome woman, after all.”

“That may be, but I fear you’ve misinterpreted the situation.”

“Have I?” Dorian smirked.

Cullen wanted to growl in frustration. The pain in his head was immense. He’d already made the admission; to be laughed off now seemed somehow wrong. “Yes. You have,” the Commander stated flatly. Surely Dorian would catch his meaning.

A jag of pain stabbed into the nape of Cullen’s neck. He fought to keep the contents of his stomach under control. “Excuse me. I must find Seeker Cassandra.” He staggered to his feet and ran off to find Cassandra before the entire camp realized how crippled he was.

***

Within a few weeks of discovering Skyhold, Dorian had carved himself a comfortable niche in the main library. It was simple enough to drag a chair between some bookshelves. He placed it up against a window so as to see his texts better, a window overlooking the battlements, courtyard, and, with the most extreme of coincidence, Commander Cullen’s tower.

So it was that he saw Seeker Cassandra go to the tower each evening. Yet, interestingly, the Seeker always left but a few moments later, usually with a concerned frown on her face. A bit odd. Were their assignations really so quick and disappointing? That didn’t seem likely. Still, who was he to judge?

One morning, Cassandra showed up in the library, a small box in her hands. “Dorian,” she said, handing over the package. “You play chess?”

“I do. Fancy a game, Seeker? You don’t seem like the type. Not enough slicing at things with swords, I should think.” Dorian set down the book he’d been perusing.

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned. “Not me. Commander Cullen. I believe he would enjoy your company in this regard.” 

Dorian blinked in surprise, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Pardon me if I question your motives, Seeker.”

“The Commander... faces many challenges. He would benefit from a distraction.” Cassandra said.

“Well, I am exceptionally good at being distracting, Seeker,” Dorian smirked.

“I am aware, Dorian. Your efforts are appreciated.” Without further clarification, she left the library with a short bow.

Dorian regarded the box of chess pieces in interest. None of what just happened made any sense. Still, what would one game hurt?

At lunchtime, Dorian made his way to the Commander’s tower. At his knock, Cullen’s voice bid him enter. Dorian opened the door and leaned on the jamb. Cullen was glowering at a parchment.

It was rather adorable, really. Not that Dorian would particularly want that frown pointed in his direction.

“Yes, what is it?” Cullen grunted, not looking up.

“Grumpy, aren’t we, Commander?” Dorian smiled.

Cullen’s face snapped up at the sound of his voice. The man blushed and began falling over himself in an effort to apologize. It was quite endearing. Shame he was wasting this gorgeous bashfulness on Cassandra.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were another runner, come to drown me in paperwork.” Cullen stood and beckoned the mage in.

“Drowning, eh? That doesn’t sound healthy,” Dorian sauntered slowly into the office, looking around in curiosity.

“It’s never-ending,” Cullen sighed. He straightened his shoulders. “What can I do for you, Dorian?”

Dorian leaned on the corner of the desk. “I thought perhaps you’d like a game of chess? A little bird told me you play.” He held out the box. “By ‘little bird’, I of course mean a very large bird, predisposed to groaning in disapproval and hacking things to tiny bits.”

Cullen blinked rapidly. “The Seeker? How strange.” The Commander frowned in confusion. “But, yes, I would very much like to play. I’ll be done here momentarily, if you care to wait.” He sat back down and resumed his battle of will with the offending parchment.

Dorian perused the bookshelves with interest. Military strategy and history made a large showing in the collection, as expected. Yet there was a surprising amount of literature, and fasta vass, was that a book of love poetry? With a surreptitious glance at the Commander, Dorian pulled the slim, well-worn book. He opened to the first leaf. The inscription read: _to Cullen, from Thomas_. Well. He grasped both covers and let the pages fall open. It fell open to a very racy retelling of Arl Jacen and Ser Corram’s legendary romance. _Well well well._ Perhaps his original conclusions about the Commander were mistaken. Interesting.

There was a jingle of armor and the scraping of chair legs. Dorian quickly leafed ahead in the book.

“Find anything good? It’s mostly martial, I’m afraid.” Cullen said. He froze in momentary panic when he saw the book in Dorian’s hands.

“Oh, just perusing what passes as poetry here in the barbaric south. This one appears to be about bees.” Dorian said, smiling. He read aloud, holding one hand up pretentiously. “Surely your work is far too vital/ To be interrupted by one like me/ I am in no way entitled/ To earn the notice of a honeybee.”

Cullen relaxed visibly and managed a chuckle. “Quite.” The Commander rubbed the back of his neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate getting some fresh air. I believe there is a table in the garden that would be a pleasant location for your inevitable defeat.” He grinned.

“Awfully confident, aren’t you, Commander?”

Cullen gave him a devastating crooked grin. Dorian noticed the scar on his lip, which should have marred his features but somehow made the Commander that much more appealing. “When it comes to chess? Absolutely.”

 

 


	3. Arl Jacen's Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finally gets an answer to the question he never bothered to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the slow burn-iest slow burn I could manage. I promise actual smut soon. I hate waiting.

“People are beginning to talk, you know,” Dorian said lightly. He surveyed the board and carefully shifted a pawn.

Cullen chuckled. “Are they? About what?” He moved his bishop, bypassing Dorian’s obvious trap.

“About my undue influence over the dashing, handsome Commander. Four games of chess in as many days? Don’t you fear for your reputation?”

Cullen flashed a half-smile. “Should I? I wasn’t aware that playing chess with one of the Inquisitor’s most trusted associates was cause for concern.”

During their first game, Cullen was pleased to find that Dorian was a strong player, though perhaps overly conservative. The mage’s style was intellectual, adhering to accepted strategies. In contrast, the Commander had the advantage of formidable military prowess; he made bold moves, huge sacrifices, and played the long game.

By all rights, Cullen should have won every match. The Tevinter, however, peppered his conversation with overt double entendres and flirting. It kept Cullen off balance. Although familiarity was taking the edge off his infatuation, the flirting made it difficult for Cullen to maintain the pretense that he didn’t want the mage, badly. It seemed that every morning, he awoke achingly hard, haunted by increasingly elaborate dreams of what Dorian could do with those hands, those lips.

Still, the whole idea was terrible; the mage was right. The idea of the Commander of the Inquisition’s troops having any sort of intimate relationship with a Tevinter, and a mage, no less?

Cullen’s eyes widened as Dorian castled. “Very bold move for you, Dorian.”

“I get a lot bolder.” Dorian’s look was direct.

Cullen locked eyes with him. Maker, the man was going to be the death of him. Cullen’s eyes flicked down to Dorian’s lips, parted just enough to show a hint of white teeth. The teeth he then imagined nipping at the nape of his neck, his chest, his inner thigh, his.... Cullen took a deep, slightly shaky breath. “Is that so?” He wrested his eyes down to examine the board.

“Of course, I would never get in the way of one of my comrades in arms.” Dorian noted.

Cullen looked up, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Seeker Cassandra, for example.” Dorian offered.

The Commander blinked rapidly. “The Seeker?”

Dorian sighed. “My chair in the library looks over the battlements. I see her coming and going quite frequently. It is still your move, by the way.”

Cullen shook his head, laughing ruefully. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood the situation, Dorian.” He made a salvo with a rook. “Seeker Cassandra is assisting me with a personal matter, nothing more.”

“Ah, so there’s a chance for me still,” Dorian said, his voice light. “Better and better.”

Just then, the Inquisitor wandered up. “Are you two playing nice?” she asked.

“I’m _always_ nice,” Dorian said, looking at Cullen. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.” He glanced at the board and moved his Queen to safety.

Cullen immediately countered. “Really? Because I just won. And I feel _fine.”_ The Commander leaned back in his chair, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t get smug. There’ll be no living with you.” Dorian rose. “Another game tomorrow, Commander?”

“Of course, Dorian. I look forward to it.” Cullen smiled.

***

That evening, Dorian found his way to the dining hall for a game of Wicked Grace. “Sparkler, you made it!” Varric called out.

“Of course I made it, my diminutive friend. I am bound and determined to get my money back.” Dorian gracefully lowered himself into the chair.

“Mmm, _bound,”_ Bull said. “I’m all for that.”

“We know,” Varric and Dorian said in unison.

Sera erupted into throaty giggles while Trevelyan snorted.

“My dear, I think Sera’s beginning to rub off on you,” Dorian said, sorting his cards.

“Rub off!” Sera shouted, elbowing the Inquisitor. Trevelyan blushed a deep scarlet but continued to laugh. “Too right,” the elf said. “Anyway, I’m off, yeah? Need to see some friends about...  things.” Sera dissembled, before scampering out.

Trevelyan gave a lusty sigh as she watched the elf leave. Apparently the Inquisitor had ended her momentary diversion with Bull and moved on to their resident Red Jenny.

“What about you, Sparkler?” Varric said, making neat piles of coin. “You find anyone to warm those tootsies yet?”

“Alas no, more’s the pity. Although I do have my eye on a certain someone. Is it my bet? One silver.”

“I'll see that,” Varric tossed a coin into the center of the table. “So who’s the lucky lad?”

“I think I know who it is,” Trevelyan said with a grin, also tossing a coin into the pile.

“It’s Cullen.” Bull said definitively. “Call, Dorian.”

“How did you - never mind. I don’t want to know what unholy Ben-Hassrath tricks you used to figure it out. Three knights,” Dorian said, laying the cards on the table.

“The Commander?” Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d never have guessed that he....”

“Oh yeah,” Bull said, grinning. “He does. Looks like I’ve got you beat, ‘Vint. Flush.” The Qunari slid the coins toward himself.

“What? How can you be so sure? I’ve been flirting with him for weeks, and I’m still not sure,” Dorian fumed.

“I asked if he wanted to ride the Bull,” he said. “Back in Haven.”

“You _asked?”_ Dorian gasped. “Just, came right out and _asked_ him?” Dorian was horrified. “How unbelievably gauche.”

“Rules are different for soldiers,” Bull shrugged.

“I think the rules are just different for _you,_ Tiny.” Varric said.

“Could be,” the Qunari admitted.

“So, wait... hold on, what did he say?” Dorian’s mind was reeling.

Bull didn’t look up from his cards. “He said no. Well, he said no _thank you._ He was very polite about it. Two silver.” He looked up at Dorian. “Be careful with Cullen.”

“What do you mean, ‘be careful’? Are you afraid he’s going to break me?” Dorian smirked.

“No.” Bull shook his head. “I’m just saying, some people can blow off a little steam, no harm done. Some can’t. You best know what you’re getting into.”

Varric snorted. “‘Getting into.’ I am so glad Sera wasn’t around for that one.”

The next day, rain poured through the keep. Or what passed for rain in the mountains. Whether it was more like wet snow or icy water, Dorian couldn’t decide. What was clear, however, was that the day was utterly dismal.

Still, no reason to cancel the game of chess. After Dorian’s discussion with the others last night, perhaps moving his game indoors was just the thing. Much more intimate. Dorian dashed to the Commander’s tower wrapped in a voluminous cloak. As usual, Cullen was up to his beautiful neck in paperwork.

“Need a break?” Dorian asked, sitting in the empty chair.

“Maker’s breath, yes.” Cullen said, stretching. He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll just be a few moments. You can prepare the board, if you like,” he nodded at a small table in the corner. Apparently the Commander had made arrangements for a rainy day. How disarmingly thoughtful.

Dorian quickly set up the pieces. Casually, he once again pulled the book of poetry from the shelf while Cullen continued to wrestle with his paperwork. Finally, the Commander looked up. “That’s enough for now, I suppose,” he said, capping the bottle of ink. “Reading about bees again?”

Dorian’s smile was wicked as he read aloud:

_For the taste of lover’s kiss, the Arl would nightly ride_   
_though the dark and rushing dawn, blushing like a bride._

_For want of touch, the sweet caress, as cleft to Corram’s side_   
_he spurred his mount along the path, their love e’er to abide._

Dorian looked up from the book. “Slightly more interesting than bees, I think. Do you not find it so?” He leaned against the desk, just next to Cullen’s chair.

The Commander cleared his throat. “Slightly,” he agreed.

“There’s lots more, all entangled limbs and heaving breath. I could continue, if you like,” Dorian offered.

Cullen reached out and gently ran his hand along Dorian’s hip. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He stood, not breaking eye contact with Dorian. With agonizing slowness, Cullen tilted his head, leaned in with closed eyes, and -

The door burst open. “Commander, your presence is... immediately requested... in the war... room.” The runner’s voice got progressively weaker as she took in the scene.

Cullen’s jaw clenched. With dangerously narrowed eyes, he responded to the runner. “I’ll be there shortly. Dismissed.”

The woman bowed several times and backed out of the office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The Commander took a deep breath. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.” Dorian saw disappointment and relief fighting in Cullen’s expression. Well. Best break the tie.

Without warning, Dorian kissed him. The Commander was stunned for an instant. Once the shock wore off, Cullen brought a hand up to Dorian’s face, cradling his cheek, deepening the kiss with teeth and tongue. Dorien backed Cullen up until the Commander was against the wall.

Cullen gave a breathy sigh as Dorian pushed him against the cool stone. Dorian grinned through the kiss and ground his hips into him, eliciting a moan. “Too bad you have to leave,” Dorian said. With a last lingering rasp of his teeth over Cullen’s bottom lip, Dorian pulled away. “Join me for a drink tonight?”

Cullen was panting slightly. “If there wasn’t talk before, drinking together will certainly be just cause.” His eyes were a bit wild.

“You think that runner will keep her mouth shut?” Dorian smirked.

Cullen winced. “True. I’ll... think about it,” he conceded.

“If you do more than think about it, Commander, I’ll make it _very_ worth your while.”

***

Cullen was glad for the bitingly cold rain that snapped him back to reality as he made his way to the War Room. He strode through the great hall and tried to put the kiss from his mind.

“Commander,” Leliana greeted him with a drawling smile. “Glad you could join us.”

“Sister Nightingale,” he greeted her. Of course she knew. _Already._ By the Maker, it had only been a few minutes.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Trevelyan said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Nothing of import, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with a bow. He winced as his neck twinged painfully.

The council was interminable. Cullen could hardly pay attention to the proceedings, he was so distracted by the taste of Dorian on his lips. Finally, it was over. It was still early afternoon. The Commander returned to his office, intent on completing just a bit more paperwork.

With no shadows to mark the passage of the sun, only hazy gray nothingness outside the window, Cullen felt as if time had stopped. He forced himself to focus on the report in front of him for the third time. His eyes skipped over the words without comprehension. Maker’s breath, this was intolerable. The pain in his neck was intense, competing for his attention with the memory of Dorian’s lips and the feeling of being shoved roughly against the wall.

Cullen rose and stood over the brazier in the corner, trying to draw as much heat as he could into himself. It was a losing battle; the hole in the tower roof sucked the warmth out of the office. Still, he couldn’t complain. Not when his troops slept in tents on the frozen ground. Asking for the roof to be repaired would be the same as admitting the withdrawal was too much to bear.

Although, hadn’t he already done just that? He’d practically begged Cassandra to relieve him of duty. Not to mention the time he’d narrowly missed hurling a lyrium philter directly into Trevelyan’s face. And yet they both still believed in him. They were confident in his ability to lead despite the pain, which was compounded a hundredfold by the cold and tedium and loneliness.

As he shivered above the glowing coals, Cullen had to admit that the last week had brought some reprieve. Aside from the rain, the weather had warmed slightly; the ache in his neck was no longer constant. And perhaps his chess games with Dorian had helped.

Templar life had been stoic, to say the least. Physical attractions were occasionally indulged, albeit in a clandestine manner. The act itself didn’t meet with disapproval; it was excessive affection between Templars which was frowned upon - a frivolity, a luxury that they shouldn’t need or want. And being with a mage? Utterly out of the question. Even without the impossibility of keeping such a thing secret, how could he possibly be with someone that he might have to cut down at any moment? The one time a mage had suggested such a thing, Cullen had literally run away.

But Dorian was no circle mage. He had no fear of Templars, nor of himself. Dorian was a mage with every fiber of his being - _the_ mage, confident, assured. _Magnificent._ The memory of being pinned against the wall ignited a pool of warmth in Cullen that had little to do with the glowing coals.

He turned back to his desk. The slim book of poetry sat under a pile of parchment. Cullen tugged it from its hiding place. It was years since he’d read it. Perhaps just a few minutes, then he could return to the reports with fresh eyes. His fingers found _Arl Jacen’s Ride,_ the page almost leaping to hand. Cullen’s eyes traced the familiar words, though the voice he heard now in his head was Dorian’s.

 

 


	4. Full of Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian almost gets stood up, but Cullen surprises him at the last minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! Actual smut. Mild dubcon tag added for improperly negotiated but entirely consensual kink.

It had been a long time since Dorian had been stood up. Yet it could not be denied - he’d waited in the tavern for hours, and Cullen had not appeared. Maddening. After a while, the sting of rejection was blunted by ale and laughter as Bull and his Chargers tried to oneup each other for most outlandish tale. Then Varric showed up and it became an all-out war.

“And then the Duchess opened her huge purse. Five nugs popped out and scampered down the banquet table. You could hear the screaming all the way to Montsimmard.” The dwarf had his hand over his heart, to emphasize his sincerity.

Bull pounded the table with his hand. “Nugs! I love it.”

Dorian laughed into his tankard. He knew it was time for him to go, but he also knew how terrible it would feel once he left.

“You okay, Sparkler?”

“Of course, Varric. Why wouldn’t I be?” Dorian gave the dwarf a dazzling if slightly tipsy smile.

“Because your head swiveled around every time that door opened, and you frowned at every person who walked through,” the Iron Bull said. “So, either you really hate drafts, or you were waiting for someone who didn’t show. Like maybe a handsome blond.”

“I do hate drafts, it’s true,” Dorian deflected the statement. Fasta vass, that Ben-Hassrath training was uncanny. No wonder things were still bogged down in Seheron. “My feet still haven’t warmed up properly since Haven.” He drained his tankard. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, gentlemen. Time to retire to my cold bed.”

With a grand bow, he took his leave. On his way to his quarters, he took a detour to retrieve a book from his library alcove. At least, that’s what he told himself. Certainly he didn’t use the book as an excuse to look out the window to see if there was a light burning in Cullen’s tower. Which there was.

With the courage imparted by Fereldan ale, Dorian decided to see what had kept the Commander from their meeting. He knocked on the tower door and entered when there was no answer.

Cullen was asleep at his desk, his arms askew over a toppled heap of parchment. As it had been in Haven, Dorian was struck by how much younger Cullen looked when he was sleeping.

Dorian knelt beside the desk, just watching him breathe in and out. After several moments, Dorian laid a hand on his shoulder. “Cullen.”

With frightening speed, and without fully opening his eyes, the Commander grabbed Dorian’s wrist and bent it in a submission hold, threatening to snap the bones. Dorian yelped in pain. The sound roused Cullen; he immediately released Dorian’s wrist.

“Dorian,” he said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d hoped you would meet me for a drink, Commander.” He rubbed his wrist, noting the twinges of a minor sprain.

Cullen saw the gesture. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Yes, I am, in fact. Good thing there wasn’t a knife handy.” Dorian’s eyes wandered to the desk, mostly to avoid looking at Cullen. On top of the parchment was the book of poetry, open to _Arl Jacen’s Ride._

Cullen exhaled sharply. “My life as a Templar was less than pleasant, Dorian. Between Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall, I learned to keep my guard up.”

“You were at Kinloch Hold?” Dorian said. “The Fereldan Circle? That was _you?"_  The stories of the fall of the Circle had spread even to Tevinter. A lone Templar, holding out against an entire tower of possessed mages. And Cullen’s role in Kirkwall was known, told to him by the Inquisitor and Varric. “Andraste’s ass, Cullen, I had no idea. And then you ended up in Kirkwall? You have had abominable luck. You and the Inquisitor should have a contest.”

He expected Cullen to laugh, or at least to acknowledge the statement. Cullen merely looked at him with a wary expression. Too late, Dorian heard himself asking, “Is that why you gave up being a Templar? Is that why you stopped taking lyrium?”

“How did you know?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Ah... I don’t know if you realize, but lyrium has a rather distinctive taste. A taste that you lack. Any mage would be able to detect it.”

Cullen was blinking rapidly at this information. Dorian’s tipsy brain struggled to keep up. “Kaffas. It’s a secret, isn’t it? You don’t want people to know.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

He opened his eyes. Cullen was still staring at him, with that same expression he’d trained on Dorian when they first met.

“You don’t trust me.” The realization hit Dorian like one of Bull’s oversize mauls. “You think I’m... what, out to get you? Seducing you so you expose your secrets?” Dorian shook his head, incredulous. “Fine. Believe whatever you like. I need to go bind my wrist before the swelling gets worse.”

Even without the benefit of sobriety, Dorian could see the flash of pain that wracked Cullen’s face. The Commander didn’t truly believe those things. Still, he wasn’t exactly leaping to deny Dorian’s accusations, either.

Dorian stood tall, straightening his robes, then turned on his heel and walked to the door. He’d almost crossed the threshold when Cullen called out, his voice a bit strangled. “Wait. Please.”

Though tempted to just keep walking, the sound of the desperation in Cullen’s voice reminded Dorian of that night at the Singing Maiden, the first night he’d seen the Commander’s sleeping face. Dorian turned back.

Cullen was trembling visibly.  He winced and grabbed the back of his neck. “You... have an effect on me,” Cullen admitted. “I’m afraid you might be... distracting.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Dorian laughed. “Well of course I’m distracting, Commander. Have you seen me? Who wouldn’t be distracted by my dashing good looks and charm?” He attempted to wave his hand in little circles to illustrate his point, then hissed in pain as his injured wrist balked.

With his free hand, Dorian directed a weak blast of cold on the swollen limb. Cullen flinched at the magic.

“Oh, I forget, you southern barbarians are scared of magic, aren’t you? Trust me, Commander, I have excellent control.” Dorian said. He held a flame in the palm of his hand, willing the red-gold energy to take the form of a tiny lion.

“I know,” Cullen breathed, looking down at Dorian’s hand, then up to his face.

Suddenly Dorian realized what he’d been seeing in the Commander’s expression, here and in Haven. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t disgust _at all._ It was the look of a man desperately trying to keep naked desire from showing on his face.

For the second time, Dorian surprised Cullen with a kiss. This one was ferocious, as Dorian claimed Cullen with lips and tongue. He brought his uninjured hand up to weave through Cullen’s thick blond hair. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be a total loss, after all.

***

“Wait. Please.” He hadn’t intended it to come out as such a plea. But, by some grace, Dorian walked back into the office. And then, sweet Maker, Dorian’s lips were on his again. Cullen gave a very soft groan of pleasure as Dorian’s fingers wove into his hair.

“Like that, do you?” Dorian breathed, pulling away with a wicked smile. He flexed his fingers, pulling Cullen’s hair taut.

“Maker, _yes,”_ Cullen said, his eyes fluttering shut. He opened them again when the mage did not respond.

Dorian regarded Cullen carefully. He loosened his grip, then pulled once more. Cullen felt his hips bucking forward, just once.

“Well well well. This certainly presents some interesting possibilities. I’m taking you back to my quarters.” Dorian concluded, his voice matter-of-fact.

Cullen’s mind was still reeling from the kiss. A part of him thought the whole idea was absolutely terrible. It was not a large part, however, and his body was rapidly vetoing the dissent. “We could go upstairs....” Cullen found himself saying.

Dorian held up his injured wrist. “I’m in no position to climb ladders tonight, I’m afraid. Plus, I don’t care to remove my clothes in a room without a proper roof. I do have standards, you know.” He pulled Cullen toward one of the doors by the front of his shirt.

“Wait, I need to...” Cullen said, holding his hand out towards the lit candles and the glowing brazier.

Dorian exhaled sharply in frustration. He let go of Cullen for an instant to snap his fingers. The room was plunged in darkness.

The Commander shivered at the casual use of magic, so unlike anything he’d experienced. To see Dorian so in command of his abilities... it was intoxicating.

Before he had a chance to think, Dorian was dragging him along the battlements. He’d let go of Cullen’s shirt and was pulling him by the hand. Cullen realized the whole thing looked ridiculous. So ridiculous that it didn’t actually bother him when they happened upon a startled sentry. “As you were,” Cullen called out reflexively. He snorted under his breath as the man gave him a startled, hasty salute.

And then there was a door, which opened then shut behind them. Candles flared to life seemingly of their own volition. Cullen had to admit, this room was much warmer than his. He suspected the mage helped that along just a bit. Dorian let go of Cullen and crossed to an ornate dresser in the corner. He pulled open a drawer and fished out a length of narrow fabric, too wide to be a ribbon, too narrow to be a scarf.

Dorian looked over his shoulder at Cullen. “On the bed, go on then,” he nodded. Cullen obediently sat as Dorian fiddled with the fabric, trying to bind his wrist.

“I can help,” Cullen offered. Dorian held out his wrist and the bandage. Cullen deftly wrapped the swollen forearm with the silk.

“Excellent,” Dorian said. He put his free hand on the wrapping. With a murmur, the silk seemed to crystallize.

Cullen’s eyes widened. “How - What spell -?”

“It’s a variant of stonefist. Healers in Tevinter use it all the time. Great for keeping things stable.”

Cullen felt his cheeks burning as Dorian regarded him, a smile on the mage’s face. “Even this simple spell enthralls you, does it?” He hummed a laugh.

And then, Maker, Cullen felt the mage straddle his thighs. Dorian put his arms around Cullen’s neck and drew him in for a breathless kiss, hot and open and wet. Cullen could taste the wine that Dorian had been drinking earlier, sweet and sticky, complementing the musky spice of his scent. When Dorian’s lips moved on to Cullen’s jawline, then to his neck, he moaned and stretched to kiss any skin he could reach, nibbling along Dorian’s collar.

Dorian pulled away to remove his shirt, deftly undoing the buckles and knots. Cullen was wearing the padded tunic that habitually lay beneath his armor. He tugged the whole thing off in one sweep, giving a half-smile at Dorian’s appreciative hum.

“Well. Well well _well,”_ Dorian said, running his fingertips over the exposed chest. “Look what you’ve been hiding from me, Commander.”

Cullen flushed at the words, but could not help but bask in the sight of Dorian. The mage was smaller than he, yet every muscle was perfectly proportioned. He leaned forward to run his lips over the hollow of Dorian’s throat.

The mage purred in response. He reached down and ran a finger over Cullen through his breeches. The half-hard flesh twitched under his touch. Dorian chuckled. With catlike grace, he lifted himself off Cullen’s lap, balancing himself with his good hand. “Pants off,” Dorian grinned, taking a few steps back.

Cullen fumbled with the laces on his breeches, yanking them off.

“You’ll have to undo mine as well, I’m afraid,” Dorian said with mock sadness, coming to stand between Cullen’s knees. “Bad hand, you know.”

Cullen looked up at Dorian through his lashes, his lips curled into a half-grin. Cullen pulled at the belt, unbuckling it with teasing slowness.

Dorian gave a throaty laugh, throwing his head back in delight. “You’re not like the other Chantry boys, are you?”

“It’s more that _you’re_ not like the other Chantry boys, Dorian.” Cullen said, slipping the belt from his pants loop by loop.

“I should hope not.” Dorian smirked down at him.  He yanked Cullen’s hair back, pulling his face upwards and smothering it with a kiss. “Now hurry up.” Dorian let go and bucked his hips slightly.

Cullen made quick work of the rest of the laces, sliding the breeches down Dorian’s (oh sweet Maker) chiseled thighs. He ran his thumbs up Dorian’s hips, his breath catching slightly when the mage’s stiffening flesh bobbed under the scrutiny.

Dorian, meanwhile, brought his uninjured hand down to Cullen’s mouth. He brushed over the scar on his lip, pulling Cullen’s mouth open with his thumb. Cullen sucked his invading fingers.

“Mmm,” Dorian breathed. “Why don’t you show me what else you can do with that gorgeous mouth?”

Cullen did not need to be asked twice. He leaned forward, sucking in as much as he could, then pulsing his tongue as he pulled away.

The mage sighed as Cullen followed his mouth with his hand. “My my, you are full of surprises, Commander.” Dorian laid a hand on top of Cullen’s head. Under different circumstances, it would have been a blessing.

The words coming out of Dorian’s mouth were no Chant of Light, however. Cullen couldn’t make out the half-whispered Tevene phrases, but the tone of voice was unmistakable. He could feel Dorian growing even harder on his tongue. Gently, Cullen brought his other hand up to cup the mage’s balls, pressing small circles into the root of his cock.

With a surprised moan, Dorian began to thrust into Cullen’s mouth, hard and fast. His fingers pulled at Cullen’s hair, holding him still as he rutted. Cullen looked up at him, watching Dorian throw back his head, gritting his teeth as he continued to mutter curses. Then, the mage looked down, locking eyes with Cullen for a heart-stopping moment. The words faltered, giving way to heavy panted breaths, then a groan as he spilled into Cullen’s mouth, grabbing at his hair, hard.

After a few seconds to catch his breath, Dorian smirked down at Cullen. He still grasped the Commander’s hair, though his grip had lessened. “Full of surprises,” he said again.

“I’m glad you think so.” Cullen looked up at him.

Dorian shook his head, laughing. “What _am_ I going to do with you? So many possibilities.”

Cullen groaned a little at the words. Dorian pushed him back to lie on the bed, Cullen’s feet still on the ground. The mage knelt between his legs. He licked Cullen’s length with the very tip of his tongue.

Cullen raised himself on to his elbows so that he could watch Dorian. It was literally breathtaking to watch the Tevinter’s lips wrapped around him; Cullen whimpered and rolled his head back.

Dorian spread Cullen’s legs wider, pulling the warrior’s hips to the edge of the mattress. He continued sucking Cullen with agonizing slowness, his mouth tracing every straining inch.

Cullen hissed as he felt one slick finger pressing into him. He’d seen no oil; perhaps the mage conjured it. Still, Dorian slowly stretched the tight aperture open, pushing in firmly. Maker, it felt amazing. Then Dorian raised his eyes, locking his gaze with Cullen.

The Commander shuddered at the intensity of it, as Dorian pulled his finger out, then added another in the same, slow, steady rhythm. Cullen’s breath was coming in short, heaving gasps. He wanted more, needed more, though he was already overwhelmed with sensation.

Dorian continued to look at Cullen, his gray eyes lidded with lust. He removed Cullen from his mouth, then brought his other hand up to rest on the delicate skin where thigh met hip. Though his range of motion was compromised, Dorian’s fingers were free. Still watching Cullen’s face, he dragged his fingernails lightly across the skin, then followed the pink tracks with his tongue.

The tiny prick of pain sent shockwaves through Cullen. He bucked, the motion forcing the fingers of Dorian’s other hand even further into his ass.

“Like that, do you?” Dorian smirked.

“Oh _Maker,_ yes, yes.” Cullen ground the words out from between clenched teeth.

“You want more?” Dorian asked, once again digging his nails into Cullen, harder this time.

“Please, please yes. More.”

Dorian hummed his assent, now scratching hard enough to leave reddened welts. “Perhaps you’d like it cold? Or hot?”

Cullen groaned at the prospect.

“Well, which is it, Commander?” Dorian’s smirk was diabolical. “You don’t want me to make you beg, do you?”

Oh sweet Maker, Cullen wanted nothing more than to be made to beg, to plead and moan and weep until he was out of his mind with need. “Hot,” he whimpered. “Please.”

“So polite,” Dorian said. He once again ran his fingers over Cullen, the scraping of his nails accompanied by a searing heat that dissipated immediately.

Cullen arched off the bed, the _yes_ wrenched from his lips almost a scream, his head and ass the only point of contact with the mattress.

Dorian’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Ooh, I like that, Commander. _Very_ pretty. Very pretty _indeed.”_

Cullen winced with effort. “Please, please,” he moaned, trying to buck on to Dorian’s fingers.

“So you _do_ want to beg. I like that best of all, I think. Why don’t you tell me what you want, Chantry boy?” His one hand now caressed languidly over the warrior’s broad chest, while his fingers were just teasing at his entrance.

“Please, I want....” Cullen gasped. “I want more....”

“More of this?” Dorian said, once again swiping at Cullen’s chest. “Or more of this?” He thrust into Cullen, crooking his fingers.

Pleasure exploded through Cullen; he squealed an inhale. Dorian had already gone back to his teasing. “Well? Which is it? Tell me, _Commander.”_

Cullen found himself babbling. “Oh Maker please, more, please... I need... I need it, please make me come, please please please. I want you in my ass and I want your mouth and... please, more, more heat, please, I need it. I need it.”

With a throaty chuckle, Dorian very gently wrapped his lips around the head of Cullen’s cock, giving him everything he asked for, all at once, his eyes wicked as he stared at the Commander.

Cullen shouted, his hips bucking off the bed as he erupted into Dorian’s mouth. Almost before the aftershocks were finished, he sank back, laughing weakly.

“Something funny, Chantry boy?” Dorian crawled up to lay beside him.

“Just... I’m not the only one full of surprises,” Cullen sighed. As much as he wanted to stay in the warm bed with Dorian all night, he began to prepare himself to return to his quarters.

Before he could say anything, however, Dorian beat him to the punch. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? Going back to your hole in the ceiling.”

“How did you know I have a hole in my ceiling?”

“My good sir, I’ll have you know yours is not the biggest tower in Skyhold. That distinction belongs to Leliana. When I went up to complain about the utter absurdity of keeping birds in a library, I happened to look down and see the tatty canvas you call a roof. Why on earth you haven’t had it fixed is beyond me. Some sort of Chantry boy affectation, hmm? Suffering for Andraste or some rot?”

Cullen laughed. Once he started, he found it difficult to stop. It felt good. “Something like that, yes,” he said, still snickering. He yanked on his boots.

He turned back to Dorian. The mage was looking at him, a thoughtful smile on his face. “What?” Cullen asked.

“That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you laugh. It’s... good to hear.”

Cullen smiled. Before he could respond, a jolt of pain flashed through his neck. He hissed, grabbing his neck with his hand.

“Is that from the lyrium?” Dorian sat up, his face concerned.

Cullen nodded. “It’s worse when I’m cold or tired.”

“May I?” Dorian reached out his hand.

With a nod, Cullen allowed Dorian to touch the back of his neck. By Andraste, it felt incredible. The mage had once again pooled heat into his hand, though it was no longer searing, merely warm. Dorian massaged the tense muscle as Cullen groaned.

“Interesting,” Dorian said, a clinical tone in his voice. “I wonder.”

Cullen fought the urge to whimper as Dorian removed his hand. “You wonder what?”

Dorian tilted his head and squinted slightly. “I might be able to help you, Commander. Give me a few weeks. In the meantime,” Dorian rose and opened another drawer in the dresser. He pulled out a long cloth tube, tied at both ends and filled with something heavy. “It’s sand,” he explained. “Hang it over a fire to heat it, then drape it over your neck. It’s not my hand, but then, very few things are.”

Cullen blinked in surprise. “Thank you,” he stammered.

“You’re welcome. Now. Are we playing chess tomorrow or what?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Dorian.”

 

 


	5. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian learns there is a difference between the north and the south, and pays a steep price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! I had to make sure I knew where I was going with this. This chapter and the next deal with hate crimes and PTSD.

Dorian allowed himself the luxury of a lie-in the next day. After all, he’d been up quite late. Still, eventually the sun had the temerity to shine directly into his eyes, so he got out of bed.

He cut the bindings from his wrist, testing the range of motion. The swelling had gone down considerably but it still ached. There was no way the healers would part with their potions for such a minor injury. And explaining how he got injured in the first place might put him in a bit of a pickle, not to mention Cullen. Still, he wouldn’t be able to properly wield a staff, and he was due to set out on a field mission to the Emerald Graves the next day. He’d have to brew a potion himself. Which meant foraging for elfroot in the mountains like some sort of hedge witch. Nothing for it. At least it was sunny.

With a jaunty step, Dorian sauntered through the main gates. He frowned slightly as the guard Captain halted him. “Where you think you’re going, maleficar?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Such a _big_ word, Captain. You just learn that today?”

Another soldier seemed to materialize from nowhere, crowding in on him. Vishante kaffas. “Gentlemen, is there a problem? Must I remind you that I am a senior member of the Inquisition? I don’t need a permission slip to leave.”

The other soldier spoke. “We know what you’re doing, filth. Corrupting the Commander with your unholy geas. You won’t get away with it.” He looked vaguely familiar.

Dorian peered at him. Of course, it was the sentry from last night, the one he and Cullen had passed on the battlements. Throwing his head back, Dorian laughed loudly. “Unholy geas? Is that what you really think? My dear sirs, I need no magic to draw a man to my bed, I assure you.”

The guard Captain spat on him, the glob of spittle landing on his chest. Dorian stared at him, his eyes narrowed. He dragged his fingers through the mess and held it up. “You really think that's wise, Captain?” Dorian rubbed the saliva between his fingers, adding just the tiniest hint of a flame to burn the liquid off.

The soldiers backed away warily.

“I thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some elfroot to gather.” Without looking back, Dorian strode through the gates.

***

Cullen gazed out of the window behind his desk, lost in a daydream. Well, one thing was certain. Dorian was, indeed, a distraction; the Commander had hardly touched the pile of reports on his desk. Instead he was lost in a reverie of the previous night. The way Dorian had tasted on his tongue, the gleam of lust in his gray eyes, the sound he made as he spilled into Cullen’s mouth. And Maker, the things Dorian had done to him. He shivered.

Just then he saw Dorian striding toward the gates. Where was he going?  The mage’s tower had not been completed yet. Perhaps he was going to practice magic outside the keep?

Something was wrong. The guard Captain and a sentry stopped Dorian. Cullen couldn’t hear the conversation, but the body language was threatening. And then the Captain spat on Dorian.

Rage exploded through the Commander. He clenched his fists so tight that the leather of his gloves cut off the circulation to his fingers. Dorian wiped the spittle off himself, said a few more words, and strode out.

Cullen forced himself to relax, loosening his hands. Dorian probably faced that kind of attitude constantly. Still, Cullen could not afford to let such blatant anti-mage bigotry stand. Best to nip it in the bud. He had the guard roster around somewhere. He’d discipline the Captain and the sentry.

Just as he turned to go, motion at the gates once again caught his eye. Another troop had appeared, and two men that Cullen didn’t recognize. They weren’t wearing uniforms. The Captain had a brief conversation, jerking his head in the direction Dorian had walked. A wave of dread washed over Cullen. The Captain loosened his sword. He and the others followed after Dorian at a trot, leaving the first sentry to stand guard.

Cullen didn’t even think. He scrambled out of his office, grabbing his sword and sprinting across the battlements. He wrenched the door to the Rotunda open. “Solas, you know healing magic?”

Solas blinked. “I have some limited ability in that regard, Commander.”

“You’re with me. Leliana!” Cullen called up to the top of the tower.

The spymaster leaned over the railing. “Commander, we just saw a fireball rise into the sky, outside the keep.”

“Maker’s breath, that's _Dorian._ He’s under attack.” Cullen didn’t wait to explain; he simply ran out into the Great Hall.

Varric followed, heeding Solas’ urging. Cullen took the stairs two at a time. “Get Bull!” he bellowed, pointing at the Herald’s Rest. “And Cassandra!”

The Commander was only slightly surprised to find Cole trotting alongside him. The spirit made him nervous, but for once the his ability to sense trouble was welcome, as were his blades.

The sentry at the gates attempted to salute as the Commander barreled towards him. Without breaking stride, Cullen grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the stone wall. _“Where?”_ His voice was a quiet snarl.

“Ser, I... I don’t know what you mean.” The sentry cast his eyes everywhere but Cullen’s face.

With a growl, Cullen tossed the man to the ground. He didn’t have time to question him. Five armed men against one? Dorian could be dead by now.

Outside the gates, Cullen cast about. The snow had melted; there were no tracks to follow, at least none that could be seen quickly. Cullen heard the others catching up to him. He ran his hands through his hair and bit back a whine of anxiety as he contemplated which direction to search.

“This way,” Cole said, pointing to the left. “He is scared, helpless, it _hurts.”_

It wasn’t far. Near the edge of a copse of trees, just out of the view from the walls, the men stood, kicking something and laughing. The Captain's sword was drawn and slick with blood.

Later, Cullen wouldn’t remember sprinting across the remaining distance. He wouldn’t recall grabbing the Captain and punching him, felling the man with one blow. He wouldn’t remember the chaos as the inner circle quickly disarmed the men.

What he would remember was sinking to his knees beside Dorian. The mage was trembling, huddled in a fetal position, bleeding from dozens of wounds, his face almost unrecognizable under the swelling. He glowed blue, faintly; he’d cast a barrier around himself. One gray eye peeked open.

“Dorian, I’m here,” Cullen whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Though the remembrance of Dorian’s bleeding and broken body would eventually fade, it was his tiny whimper of pain and fear that haunted Cullen’s dreams for a long, long time.

***

It was an interesting experience, coming to consciousness after one’s death was all but assured. Dorian found that it would have been much more pleasant without the lingering pain which suffused every cell of his body. It was a generalized ache, a dull maddening sensation that was impossible to ignore.

Dorian sensed that someone was in the room with him. He hadn’t quite managed to open his eyes yet, but he could hear steady breathing. Some instinct told him it was Cullen; however, Dorian pretended to be unsure about that, not willing to admit to himself that the sound of the other man’s breath had already become so familiar.

He opened his eyes. He was in his quarters; it was dark. Moonlight trickled through the window and a brazier glowed in the corner. Cullen was next to him, slumped in a chair, asleep. As soon Dorian moved, Cullen roused himself.

“You’re awake,” the Commander said, his voice thick with the dregs of slumber. He lit a candle.

“And alive, it appears. There’s a surprise.” Dorian croaked. “How long have I been out?”

Cullen filled a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to him. He drank gratefully; healing potions tended to dehydrate the body.

“A day and a half. They kept you under while the potions had a chance to work.” Cullen said. “What were you doing out of the keep?”

“Ironically, looking for elfroot. I was going to brew a potion for my wrist. Didn’t want to tax Inquisition resources.” Dorian let his eyes close.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore. His mild curses were so endearing. The Commander looked as if he was going to say something else. When he finally spoke, Dorian got the distinct impression the words were not what he’d originally intended.

“You didn’t fight back.”

Dorian laughed. “My dear Commander, of _course_ I didn’t. If I’d raised a finger against them, I’d be painted as a maleficar; I’d be lucky to make it out as Tranquil. More likely to be burned at the stake or whatever it is you southern barbarians do. Not to mention it would cause all sorts of repercussions to the other mages here. The Inquisitor has enough difficulties without having to deal with that.”

Cullen was looking at him with a kind of intense admiration. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.” The sincerity in his voice tore at Dorian.

Dorian deflected the sentiment. “Cullen, it was not brave at all. It was the only strategy available to make up for my supreme stupidity in going out alone. If anything, I learned it from you. All those games of chess, your hopeless sacrifices, your bold maneuvers, your long game. I have been paying attention, you know.”

Cullen laughed. “Glad I could help.” Once again, Dorian got the feeling Cullen was about to say something different from the question which left his lips: “How do you feel?”

“Frightened,” Dorian said immediately. “Absolutely terrified, to be honest. Quite a new sensation for me. I have to say I don’t fancy it. I don’t fancy it _at all._ I hadn’t expected the south to be a parade of rose petals, but I wasn’t expecting to be the victim of a failed murder attempt.” As the words left his mouth, the enormity of what happened suddenly sank into Dorian, all at once. He began to tremble violently as a wave of panic hit him.

“What’s the matter?” Cullen’s voice was sharp. “Are you ill?”

The tremors wracking through Dorian made every muscle ache that much more acute. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I seem to be having a panic attack. This is... Oh, I do not like this. I feel like I’m dying.” His voice sounded high, reedy in his ears as he fought the urge to whimper.

There was a disconcerting sense of movement. It took Dorian a moment to realize that Cullen was pulling on the bottom sheet, shifting the mage to the side of the bed. He began to squawk a protest, but then Dorian felt Cullen curl around him, surrounding him with the scent of Chantry incense, hay, and the rough soap favored in the South.

“Is this alright?” Cullen’s voice murmured into the crook of Dorian’s neck.

Dorian wanted to say no. It was too intimate, too much, too soon. But the sensation of a stable body made him feel safer. The panic began to wane, infinitesimally.

“It’s... it’s fine,” Dorian gasped, still in the throes of the attack.

Cullen tightened his embrace slightly, bringing a leg up to wrap around the mage, almost laying on top of him. “Is that better?”

It was. Somehow, it was actually better. He should feel stifled, but he didn’t. “Yes,” Dorian breathed, and he meant it, the _yes_ somehow drowning out the pain and shame and fear, filling all of him with _yes, yes,_ even as the panic dissolved.

After a few moments, the trembling was over and Dorian’s heart returned to its normal pace. Cullen made no move to leave.

“Where did you learn this?” Dorian whispered.

“After Kinloch Hold. It was... a bad time for me.” Cullen spoke softly, his lips moving against Dorian’s shoulder. “I can get up, if you like. I don’t want to keep you from your rest.”

“Perhaps... not quite yet,” Dorian said, in a whisper so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d even spoken aloud. Cullen’s embrace tightened. Dorian’s body still ached, but having Cullen wrapped around him caused a new sensation, a bittersweet pang that rode sharp and high in his chest.

The sensation was unfamiliar and not particularly welcome. Too close to the kinds of emotions he avoided like the blight. So Dorian brought his hand up, pooling a tiny bit of warmth in his palm before massaging it into the nape of Cullen’s neck.

The Commander groaned, his body seeming to melt into Dorian’s. He reached awkwardly to stay the mage’s hand. “No, you shouldn’t. You must rest,” Cullen protested.

“Please, just let me do this,” Dorian said. He did not say why it was so important, and Cullen was so desperate for relief from the ache in his neck that he did not ask. Self-reflection was not Dorian’s strong suit. He did not really know what it was that compelled him to repay the Commander’s succor; he only knew that accepting such comfort created a debt, and debts must be paid. It must be so, because if the exchange was not equal, then that meant that Cullen was offering him solace for reasons other than mere friendship. And that could not happen. Would not happen.

So he caressed the heat into Cullen’s neck, even as the man’s embrace soothed him, and they both fell into slumber. Equal exchange, perfect equivalence, the ledger balanced.

***

Cullen awoke with a jolt, tangled in Dorian’s limbs, as the mage began to moan and mutter in his sleep. The Commander had experienced enough nightmares in his time to recognize the signs. It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

He gingerly extracted himself from Dorian’s arms. Cullen brushed the hair off the mage’s damp forehead, then placed a firm kiss on the clammy skin before going to find the Iron Bull.

Back in Haven, Bull had propositioned Cullen. He was tempted. Oh, Maker, how he was tempted. But at the time, his lyrium withdrawal had been acute; he knew Bull would recognize the symptoms, and no one was quite sure yet how well the Qunari spy could be trusted. Still, Bull had said his door was always open. Time to see if he was telling the truth.

He made his way through the almost silent keep. It was still two hours before dawn. With a brief prayer that Bull was alone, Cullen pushed the door open. Mercifully, Bull lay by himself, perfectly motionless on the bed. Cullen stood quietly. One does not shake a Ben-Hassrath from slumber.

Ten seconds ticked by. Then, with no warning, Bull spoke. “Hello Commander,” Bull said, his voice calm.

Cullen fought the urge to flinch. “Bull,” he said, bowing his head.

The massive bulk in the bed rose to sitting. “I don’t suppose you’re here to take me up on my offer,” Bull said, a trace of mirth in his voice. “You need help with Dorian?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. “I was with him, but then he started to have nightmares. I don’t want to hurt him by accident. Again.” He watched as Bull lit a candle from the banked coals in the fireplace.

“That what happened? You’d better tell me from the beginning,” Bull said, rubbing the sleep from his good eye with his thumb.

Cullen told a very stripped down version of events. Bull laughed. “How was the sex?”

“You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?” Cullen frowned.

“Actually, yeah, I do,” Bull said, his voice serious.

Cullen blinked rapidly. “It was amazing, incredible. Everything I never knew I wanted. It was....” the breath whooshed out of Cullen as he whispered, quivering slightly. He swayed on his feet.

Bull leapt forward to catch him. “Fuck, Cullen, when was the last time you ate?” He set the Commander down on the bed.

“Yesterday morning,” he admitted. “I know, I know. No need to scold.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just got distracted.”

“So if you’re taking care of Dorian, who’s taking care of you?” Bull asked, crossing his arms.

“I’ll be fine, Bull,” Cullen said. “I’m not the one who was almost killed.”

“I’ll do you a favor and not press the issue, but I reserve the right to bring it up later,” Bull growled. “So, how is he?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He had a panic attack almost as soon as he woke up. I got him back to sleep, but now he’s having nightmares.”

Bull grunted. “How’d you get him back to sleep?”

Cullen coughed delicately. “I... held him.”

“Good,” Bull approved. “Very effective. You want me to watch him?”

“Please,” Cullen nodded. “I couldn’t live with myself, leaving him to wake up alone. This whole thing is my fault.” He sagged as if the guilt was a physical force.

“Hey!” Bull said sharply, shaking him by the shoulder, hard. “Stop it. The longer you tell yourself that, the more the lie takes hold.”

“I... I’m sorry,” he gasped, the sensation of Bull’s fingers digging into his shoulder snapping him out of it.

“Just... try not to do that, okay?” Bull said, his voice now gentle. “Now, why don’t you stay here? I’ve got the bed all nice and warm. That cold tower won’t do you any good tonight. In the morning, eat something before you come to Dorian’s room. I’ll watch him till you get there.”

Cullen nodded and allowed Bull to push him gently down on to the bed, covering him with a blanket. He was asleep before the Qunari shut the door.


	6. The Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian heals from his injuries and plays the waiting game with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... apparently this is very much a dom!Dorian/sub!Cullen thing now, so if that ain't your bag, you've been warned.

Dorian awoke the next day alone, soaked in sweat, shouting away a nightmare. He groaned as his muscles protested the activity.

“Whoa there,” a voice rumbled from beside him. It was the Iron Bull. “Careful. You’re gonna be sore another day or so.”

Dorian sank back to the bed. “What’re you doing here, Bull?”

“Nice to see you too,” Bull grinned.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” Dorian admitted.

“No it didn’t. But that's okay. You were having nightmares, so Cullen had to leave. But he didn’t want you to wake up alone, either. He thought I might be able to help.” Bull explained without a hint of impatience.

“And he didn’t want to be discovered sharing my bed, no doubt,” Dorian guessed.

“He didn’t mention that. That's you talking, I think.” Bull said calmly.

Dorian ignored that. “What do you mean, you can help?”

“Cullen’s not the only one who’s been through some rough shit.”

“Oh no? And what did you do when you felt like you were dying for no reason?” Dorian said sourly.

Bull gave him a wolfish grin. “I turned myself in to the re-educators. I don’t recommend that for you, though.”

“No? I was just thinking that what I needed was to have my mouth sewn shut.” Dorian let his eyes fall closed. He was still so tired.

Bull’s laugh echoed through the small room. “I like you, Dorian. You and Cullen ever decide to entertain guests, you let me know.”

Dorian’s jaw fell open. “I... what... I don’t.... ” he spluttered. “There is no ‘me and Cullen’, I’ll have you know.”

Bull snorted. “Okay, ‘Vint. Whatever you say.”

“Two kisses and one tumble do not a couple make. At least not where I come from. Venedhis, I’ve done more with men whose name I never learned.” Dorian sniffed.

Bull leaned back, his arms crossed, an amused smile on his face. “Yeah? How many of them held you as you trembled, thinking you were dying? How many of them do you wish were here right now, smelling like incense and soap?”

_And hay,_ Dorian thought, before he could stop himself. He narrowed his eyes at Bull.

“You keep turning your head to the side when you inhale,” Bull explained. “I’m guessing that's the side he fell asleep on.”

All the irritation left Dorian in a rush as he realized Bull was right. “Vishante kaffas,” he whispered, his shoulders drooping. Suddenly he felt very numb. “What a strange thing,” he said, wringing his hands together, trying to force sensation into them.

“Oh, shit,” Bull muttered. He sprang up and came around to sit on the bed. “Hey. Hey, it’ll be okay,” he said, his voice soothing.

“Why is this happening?” Dorian said, forcing the whimper out of his voice.

“You’ve been through a trauma. It’s gonna happen, probably a bunch of times at first.” Bull said. “I’m going to pick you up. That ok?”

Dorian nodded dumbly, still trying to feel his hands. Bull picked him up, then sat him on the bed so that Dorian was straddling his lap, his head over Bull’s shoulder. The huge Qunari wrapped his arms around the smaller mage, his grip firm enough to quell the trembling that was beginning to take root. Dorian hadn’t been held like this since he was a child.

“Breathe, Dorian. You’re okay. You’re not in any danger.” Bull’s voice and arms kept the panic at bay.

Dorian concentrated on breathing. After a moment, his heart began to quiet and he could feel his fingertips again. The door opened just then. Dorian tensed as he saw Cullen walk in, the chess set in his hand.

Time froze as they locked eyes. Dorian knew how it must look, his body entangled with Bull’s. He would’ve expected Cullen to have an expression of surprise, or jealousy, or perhaps annoyance.

What he did not expect was the naked lust that flushed on Cullen’s face, a mask of pure _want._ It was... well. It was something, that was for sure. Dorian’s body had apparently also decided it was something. The sudden twitch shocked him; just a moment ago he’d been completely numb. But the longer Cullen gazed at him with hunger in his eyes, the more his body responded.

A rumbling chuckle ran through Bull’s chest. “Hey, Cullen.” He did not turn around.

Dorian flinched. Of course Bull could feel the hardening flesh pulsing against his abdomen. Dorian rolled his hips, trying to dampen his body’s response. This was a mistake, as his cock took the momentary relief in pressure to harden fully. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Cullen, I’d take it as a kindness if you shifted your gorgeous eyes away for a second, there’s a dear.”

Bull laughed, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and straight into Dorian. “Shit, he’s having that much of an effect on you just by _watching?”_

“Oh Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore under his breath, looking down and shuffling his feet.

The bashful stammer was so familiar that Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. “Have you seen him, Bull? Of course he’s having an effect. I’m not made of stone, you know.”

“You sure? You seem pretty hard to me.” Bull smirked. Dorian gave a resigned groan at the terrible joke. Bull lifted the mage from his lap and settled him into the bed as Cullen tried to avert his eyes and failed miserably. “Let me know when you’re ready. I know you’ve already made up your mind.” Bull said quietly. “My door’s always open.” He ruffled Dorian’s hair, then walked out, clapping Cullen on the shoulder along the way.

There was a moment of silence as Dorian and Cullen both took stock of what just happened.

“Chess?” Cullen finally asked, shoving the box at Dorian while still looking towards the door.

“Definitely,” Dorian said.

***

Perhaps they were both a bit distracted as Cullen set up the chess board. Bull had that effect, sometimes.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dorian said finally.

“Oh?” Cullen examined the board.

“About the lyrium problem. I think I might be able to help you. With the withdrawal, I mean. I need to do a bit of research, of course. I’ll make a request for some texts from the Imperium. But I think there’s a possibility. Could be quite ground-breaking.” Dorian said.

Cullen blinked in surprise. “You were just the victim of a heinous crime, still recovering from life-threatening injuries, and that's what’s occupying your thoughts? My lyrium problem?”

“If I’ve learned one thing in my life, Commander, it is not to dwell,” Dorian said calmly.

Cullen was taken aback. Something in the way Dorian spoke hinted of tragedy on a scale he hadn’t expected. He didn’t know much of Dorian’s life in Tevinter, aside from the fact that he lived a life of immense wealth and privilege and had some sort of feud with his family. Still, now was not the time to press the issue. He changed the subject. “What do you mean, help? There’s nothing that can be done about it.”

“Pfft,” Dorian scoffed. “Southern Chantry nonsense. Have you forgotten that I am immune to that particular brand of idiocy? Or that I’m spectacularly brilliant?” He relieved Cullen of a bishop.

The Commander hardly noticed. He was too busy staring at Dorian, smiling. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

Dorian caught the look which teetered dangerously close to adoration, and frowned slightly. “Yes, well... that's as it should be,” he sniffed.

After a game of chess, more well-wishers stopped by to visit with the mage. Cullen ducked out at midday; the ever-growing pile of paperwork was probably reaching gargantuan proportions by now.

For the next three days, Cullen buried himself in his work. The day and a half he’d spent watching Dorian had created a huge backlog of reports to get through. He also consulted with Leliana several times regarding the investigation into the attack. Those involved had been taken into custody, but there was no telling how many more bad seeds were strewn throughout the troops. Cullen hardly left his office, relying on runners to carry messages and bring food.

Finally, he’d made enough headway to give himself a break. It was early evening. He gave word that he wasn’t to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary on inner circle business. There was a situation he simply had to address.

He climbed the ladder to his bed, stripping his clothes and crawling under the cold blankets. Slowly, gently, he began to stroke himself, his touch light, almost teasing. This was not something to be rushed. The memory of the other morning had simply been too much to bear. Seeing Dorian straddling Bull, his arms and legs completely wrapped around the huge warrior, his face nestled into the crook of Bull’s neck? One glance was enough to tell the Commander what had happened - Bull was holding Dorian to calm him after another panic attack. The posture itself was not necessarily a sexual one, after all; parents often held their children the same way.

But by the Maker, seeing Dorian like that  had taken Cullen’s breath away. Dorian stared back at him, the momentary shock melting away to lust. When Dorian rolled his hips, gasping into Bull’s shoulder, Cullen knew the man was hard, pressed against Bull. Cullen wanted - everything, all of it, Dorian and Bull. He wanted to see Dorian writhing against Bull, to feel the friction of his own need against being unable to participate. Most of all, he wanted to once again have to beg and plead for release.

Cullen let his eyes fall closed and imagined what could have happened, if Bull hadn’t made a terrible joke and pulled Dorian from his lap. If instead, Dorian had continued to roll his hips into Bull, rutting against the Qunari, even as he stared at Cullen.

Perhaps Dorian would make him watch. Order Cullen to stand there as Dorian ground against Bull, slowly. Command Cullen to strip, his nakedness an offering, his hard cock neglected. And Bull would lift Dorian easily, settling him so that their hard flesh could slide against each other. Maybe Bull would press his fingers into Dorian, stretching him open, as the mage shook and began to sweat. Perhaps as Bull fucked him, Dorian would order Cullen to touch himself. To stroke himself in time to Bull’s thrusts, watching as Dorian bit into the Qunari’s shoulder, clutching at him. To wait until Dorian came before finding his own release.

Cullen moaned as he imagined it. He froze when he heard the door to his office open.

“Cullen?” Dorian’s voice called up uncertainly. _Maker, had he heard the moan?_

“Yes?” Cullen answered, trying to make it sound like he’d been asleep.

“The healers have seen fit to release me from bed rest. I thought I’d see if you wanted some dinner. Are you all right?”

Cullen closed his eyes. “I’m, yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

There was a pause. “May I come up?”

Cullen rolled to his side, trying to hide his erection. “Yes, come up.”

The ladder then squeaked as Dorian ascended.

Dorian paused as he took in the scene, looking around in confusion. “The way you were talking I thought perhaps you had someone up here with you,” he said.

“No, just, ah, taking a nap,” Cullen lied.

“Yes, I can see you don’t entertain often. Andraste’s ass, Cullen, you are allowed to have furnishings, you know. Also a proper roof.” Dorian pulled the chair up to the bed. “Do you always take off all your clothes to nap?” Dorian eyed his bare shoulders with interest.

“Ah... yes? Don’t you?” _Did that sound convincing? Maybe it did._

Dorian looked at him skeptically. “You’re not napping, are you?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore. Apparently it wasn’t convincing. He felt the flush rise in his face. Cullen rolled to his stomach.

The mage gave a throaty chuckle. “Ah, my little Chantry boy is embarrassed.”

Cullen grimaced, burying his face in the pillow with a groan.

“Cullen,” Dorian’s voice no longer taunted. “Do you want me to leave?”

The Commander blinked his eyes open at the change in tenor. “What?”

“I can leave,” Dorian said, intent, almost concerned. “If you don’t want me here. I interrupted you. All you have to do is say the word ‘leave’, and I’m gone. Do you understand?”

Frowning in confusion, Cullen stammered. “I... what?”

Dorian took a deep breath. “I need to know this is what you want. The... other night, you seemed to enjoy doing what I say. If we’re to do anything else like that, I need to know it’s what you want. If you think it is, we can continue. And if you change your mind, at any point, you can tell me to leave.”

Blinking rapidly, Cullen nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” Dorian paused, looking at him calmly.

Cullen realized Dorian was waiting for him to say something. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest.

Now Dorian’s smile returned, wicked. “You want me to stay, knowing what a state you’re in?” His voice was like silk, slipping around Cullen.

Cullen bucked ever so slightly against the mattress, his cock rapidly returning to straining. “Yes.”

“Mmm, I like that. What were you thinking about, to get you in such a state?”

Cullen gasped. “You,” he admitted. “And Bull.”

The laugh which came out of Dorian’s mouth was positively filthy; Cullen loved it. “Thinking about how hard you made me the other morning? Did you like knowing that I was pressed up against him?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

Dorian hummed appreciatively. “You want to watch, maybe?”

Now Cullen bucked in earnest, jerking his hips involuntarily.

“Ooh, _very_ nice. Very nice indeed.” Dorian purred. “You’re absolutely dying for it, aren’t you? You’re not even touching yourself, and you’re simply screaming for it, Chantry boy. I think I like this. I need to see you, Cullen. Do you want me to see you?” At Cullen’s eager nod, Dorian ripped the blanket away.

The Commander’s hips bucked at the feeling of the cool air hitting his skin.

“Oh no. No more of that. Roll over, on your back.” Dorian commanded.

Groaning, Cullen did as he was commanded. Dorian’s eyes roved possessively over him. “That’s very nice. When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“Ngh, ah, a week ago.” By now his balls had tightened up against his body; a large drop of liquid had seeped from the tip of his cock.

“Such a long time to wait. And you’re being so good. You can wait a little longer, can’t you?” Dorian smiled down at him, brushing the hair from his forehead.

Cullen leaned into the caress. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re going to lie there until I get back. You’re not going to touch yourself, and you’re not going to fall asleep.” Dorian said.

Cullen actually arched off the bed, hissing with need. “Yes,” he spat the word through clenched teeth.

And just like that, Dorian was gone, down the trapdoor.

***

Dorian headed to the dining hall, walking quickly. He loaded a basket with a loaf of bread, some cheese and fruit, and smoked sausage, throwing the food into the basket hurriedly. Cullen wasn’t the only one eager for things to continue.

It would be fair to say Dorian had experienced a wide range of pleasures in his day. He’d been bound and gagged, and other times he’d been the one tying the ropes. It was all fun, of course, and though he preferred to be in control he’d never taken it very seriously. Cullen, though, he was another matter. Dorian had never been with someone quite as submissive before. It was positively electrifying. The man brought out desires in Dorian he’d never really known were there.

The mage strode to the Herald’s Rest. “Cabot, I’d like a bottle of decent wine for once, you don’t mind. If it makes any difference, it’s not for me.” He long suspected Cabot purposely foisted inferior vintages on him. The dwarf rolled his eyes and disappeared into the back.

Bull sauntered up with an empty tankard and set it on the bar. “You going on a picnic?”

Dorian couldn’t help but laugh wickedly. His laugh was probably not appropriate for polite company. Luckily, Bull wasn’t exactly in that demographic. The man had explored every possible facet there was to sex, and what’s more, he appreciated all of it, no judgement. A true connoisseur.

“Dorian, what did you do?” Bull said.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Dorian said. “I had a little chat with the Commander, who is, as we speak, breathlessly and, hopefully obediently, awaiting my return. I’m merely procuring some dinner for the poor man. He’s already been waiting for quite some time.” Cabot returned, plonking a bottle on the bar in front of Dorian. The mage examined the label and reluctantly handed over a few coins. The bartender disappeared with Bull’s empty tankard.

Bull laughed loudly, slapping him on the back. “So it’s like that, is it? Templars. They’re so good at following orders.”

“Bull, I would happily brag all night about what a treasure I’ve stumbled upon, but someone might get a tad chilly.”

Bull grunted in appreciation. “Anytime you’re ready for me, you let me know.”

“Oh, I will, Bull. Have no fear of that.”

***

Cullen guessed that a half-hour passed before he heard the door open again. Dorian rose through the trapdoor, carrying a basket, which he set down. Oh, _Maker,_ the way he stalked toward the bed, the way his lips curled up into a devilish smile, the way his eyes seemed to possess Cullen, all of it shot straight into Cullen’s flagging cock, bringing him right back to straining.

Dorian hadn’t spoken. Usually the mage kept up a constant stream of dialogue; now however, he merely looked at Cullen, coming to sit beside him on the bed. He reached out and gently brushed his hands through the Commander’s hair.

Dorian’s demeanor had shifted from the playfulness of earlier in the evening. The mage now had an aura of regal confidence, distilled authority, his eyes possessing all they gazed upon. Cullen began to tremble ever so slightly. Dorian did not wield the command of an officer, but rather a king, an emperor.

The anticipation threatened to become too intense to bear. Cullen was tempted to say something, anything, to puncture the moment, break the spell. He stilled himself, but could not fight the whimper that bubbled from his throat when Dorian touched him.

“Shhh,” Dorian said. “Only a bit longer.” The authority in the words enveloped Cullen. He was reminded of his days training to be a Templar, when the tedium of the Chant or the agony of the physical conditioning threatened to overtake him, his limits tested and shattered and tested again. He remembered the comfort he took in the knowledge that he was being rebuilt as something more than he was before, his limits mere figments, his faith that what the Chantry asked of him was right and just and pure.

What Dorian was about to ask of him was, no doubt, not pure. But the feeling of faith, of security, of trust, was something Cullen hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something he had missed.

Dorian stood. He glanced around, looking for something. He grabbed a few coins from the bedside table and pressed them into Cullen’s palm, then stretched his arm to hang over the bed. “Drop these if you need to stop.”

Cullen didn’t quite understand why the coins were necessary, but he nodded. Dorian began to untie the laces of his breeches. “Open,” he said. His voice was not loud or forceful, but it contained no doubt that Cullen would obey.

Cullen opened his mouth. Gently, Dorian knelt, pushing his cock past the willing lips.

Cullen moaned gratefully. Dorian stiffened under his eager tongue, still running his hands through the thick blond hair. He began to thrust. The motion was slight at first, Dorian’s head rolled back, his eyes closed. With a heavy sigh, Dorian wove his fingers wove into Cullen’s hair, pulling it taut.

Hissing, Cullen bucked his hips as the pinpricks scattered across his scalp. Dorian thrust deeper now, staring down, a question in his eyes.

Cullen fought to relax, to answer without words, allow Dorian to take what he wanted. Dorian’s own breath was now coming in heaving gasps. Cullen’s hips began to rut against the empty air in time to Dorian’s thrusts. He pulsed his tongue along the underside of the cock. With a groan, Dorian slammed into his mouth, spilling down Cullen’s throat.

Sitting on the edge of the bed once more,  Dorian gazed at Cullen with a satisfied smile on his face. He ran his fingertips from the hollow of the Commander’s throat to his navel, then up his inner thigh, tracing his straining flesh. “Beg,” Dorian said.

The command stuttered Cullen’s heart. With another moaning gasp, he fought to form words; his tongue felt thick and heavy. Dorian’s fingers once again traced Cullen’s chest, but though the touch was gentle, his hand was laced with heat, searing even as it dissipated.

The sensation freed the words trapped in Cullen’s mouth. “Oh Maker, please, please. I’ve -ah!- waited so long, I’ve been good. Please. Please -ngh- let me come, please don’t make me wait any longer, oh Maker, I need -ah! ah!- need it so badly, please.” Cullen’s supplication dissolved into rhythmic gasps on each exhale: please. please. please.

“Touch yourself.” Dorian said.

Cullen groaned in relief, his hand falling into a familiar pace.

Dorian watched him with a clinical eye. Just as Cullen approached the edge, the command came: “Wait.”

With that one word, Cullen began to whine. He lightened his touch as much as he possibly could, but did not stop; he knew if Dorian wanted him to stop, he would have said as much.

Dorian looked calmly down at him, taking in all of it: Cullen’s now-purple cock, the breath heaving from his chest, the soundless pleas formed by his lips, the drops of moisture at the corner of his eyes. The mage sighed contentedly.

“Now.”

Cullen erupted, spurting his release on himself, his hips arching so far off the bed that only his shoulders and feet touched the mattress. He sagged back on to the bed, gulping air, his eyes wide.

Dorian lightly caressed Cullen’s arms, a gesture of comfort, even as the mage made a satisfied little humming sound. A few moments went by. “Dinner?” Dorian asked finally, reaching for the basket.

Cullen laughed breathlessly. “I’d like that.”

 

 


	7. Severance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tests his readiness for the field. Cullen makes a hard choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. AAAANGST. Also: Krem. I love him and his 'Vinty ways.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Krem said, grinning at Dorian across the practice ring. He spun the quarterstaff in his hands.

Dorian’s answering smile was deceptively innocent. “You will go easy on me, being a pathetic, weak Altus and all? I don’t have the benefit of years of fighting alongside a horned madman with a dragon fetish.”

“Poor Pavus. I’d hate for you to break a fingernail. Whenever you’re ready.” Krem said, circling the mage defensively.

Dorian leapt across the practice ring, swinging his quarterstaff in tight, controlled motions. His attacks were aggressive and rapid, raining blows down on Krem. He took a great delight in seeing the momentary surprise on the lieutenant’s face, which then bloomed into a huge grin as he countered Dorian’s attack.

“The Altus has _moves!”_ Krem shouted in delight. “Chief, you didn’t tell me he had _moves!”_

“And ruin the surprise?” Bull called out from the sidelines. The Chargers stood with him, watching the fight.

The sound of wood clacking on wood was deeply satisfying to Dorian. His muscles were still a bit stiff, but the exertion was quickly rectifying that. “Of course I have moves,” Dorian said. “Where did you think these muscles came from?” Now Krem was on the offensive; Dorian countered his thrust with a spinning parry.

“I dunno, dancing maybe?” Krem taunted. Bull’s laugh rang loudly across the field.

“I’ll show you dancing,” Dorian said. He dipped low under Krem’s swing, spinning to tap the lieutenant lightly on the back of his thighs with his staff. Dorian jabbed the staff into the ground for leverage and kicked his legs just as Krem turned around; the warrior had to lunge back to avoid his feet.

Bull was now laughing with abandon. “C’mon, Krem, you gonna let that stand?”

“Not hardly, chief.” Krem lunged forward in a leaping spin, the staff close against his torso. Once again Dorian ducked into a low spin. This time, though, Krem planted his staff to disrupt the swing of Dorian’s feet. The mage should have tripped; Krem’s body weight was shifting away to anticipate the stumbling of his opponent.

But Dorian didn’t trip. Instead, he used his foot as a hook, yanking at the staff. Krem tumbled to the dirt.

“Dorian, you’re hired!” Bull called out. By now the Chargers were hooting and hollering, yelling conflicting advice and insults at them both. Dorian saw that Blackwall and Varric were there, and Cullen as well, standing close to Bull.

Dorian reached down to give Krem a hand up. The warrior was laughing. “Damn. I’ve never seen that before. You’ve got to teach me,” he said, taking Dorian’s hand.

“Well, I have had the finest battlemage training money can buy,” Dorian admitted.

“Book learning, eh? I’ve got a few things you’ve never seen then, Pavus,” Krem said, bringing his staff back to en garde.

Dorian readied himself. “Show me,” he said, grinning.

The spar continued. By now a crowd had gathered; Tevinter quarterstaff techniques were a bit different from the style favored in the south. Dorian was having a grand time. He and Krem both laughed each time they fell, broad smiles on their faces. And of course they each played up to the Chargers, showing off.

Dorian was never quite sure what happened, but at some point he looked up to see Krem’s staff bearing down on him. Perhaps it was the way the sunlight glinted off the polished red wood. For an instant, it looked like metal. Like the captain’s sword had, as it fell again and again on Dorian, coated in his blood.

He lost his concentration, his weapon falling from numb fingers. Krem’s staff rapped him smartly on the shoulder. Dorian exploded with rage. Snarling, he grabbed Krem’s staff, using it to fling the man through the air, propelled not only by physics but by magical force. The man flew several feet before landing heavily on his back.

**“DESISTE!”**

The sound of Bull’s voice issuing the Tevene command to halt snapped him back to focus. Dorian looked down at Krem. The warrior was winded, and his smile had faded, but he did not seem the least surprised by the severity of the mage’s attack. “First fight after shit like you went through is always a wild card,” he said calmly.

“Kaffas,” Dorian said, leaning heavily on the staff. “Are you alright?” He leaned down to help Krem rise.

The Chargers cheered as Krem was hoisted to his feet. He brushed himself off. “I’m fine, Pavus. You’ve got a fair bit of control. We thought for sure Dalish was gonna have to step in. Guess we all owe the Chief some money.”

Dorian blinked. He looked over at Dalish. She waved at him, her hand full of dispelling energy. What was going on?

Bull came striding up. “Alright, you two have hogged the field long enough. Time to let some real fighters in here,” he called out. He led Dorian by the elbow towards the edge of the practice ring.

Dorian looked at Bull. “Any chance you’ll be letting me know just what the hell’s going on? Or should I wait for it to come out in Varric’s next book?”

“Sparkler! I’m offended,” Varric protested.

“No, you’re not,” Dorian scoffed.

“Fair point,” the dwarf admitted.

Bull grinned. “You did good. Proud of you. You could’ve killed Krem, but you didn’t. And now you know what to expect.”

“You knew I’d lose control?” Dorian said suspiciously.

“Happens to everyone,” Blackwall said. “Something looks or sounds familiar, brings you right back to the original trauma.” He frowned slightly, as if remembering something.

Bull nodded. “Shit, it can even be a smell. First time it happened to me, it was the smell of spicy fish. Right in the middle of a fight.”

“What happened?” Dorian asked.

“I almost killed one of my own men,” Bull said. “Couple of my guys stopped me.”

Dorian didn’t quite know how to answer that. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated,” he grumbled.

“I know,” Bull said blandly. “But if I’d told you, you would’ve expected it, and it wouldn’t have happened. And then you’d have thought you were fine. And then, when it did happen later, out in the field, you’d be even worse off, and you might’ve done something awful.”

“Fasta vass, why do have to be so....” Dorian couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Right all the time?” Bull said sweetly.

“Hold on, was this a test?” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow. He was due to accompany the Inquisitor to the Exalted Plains in the morning.

Bull shrugged. “Had to make sure you were ready, is all.”

Dorian huffed in frustration. “I’m not made of glass, you know. People have tried to kill me before.”

Bull shrugged again, with that insufferable ‘you-know-I’m-right’ look on his face.

“Yes, well, you can report back to our illustrious leader that I am perfectly fine. I didn’t come all the way from Minrathous so that I could stand around and look pretty. I am more than eager to get out of this blasted keep.” Dorian said. “Besides, it’s just as safe for me out there as it is in here.”

There was just the barest flicker of a shadow behind Cullen’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice was formal. “Well, I have plenty of work to catch up on. I’ll see you gentlemen later.” With a bow, he turned and left.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dorian frowned. He looked up at Bull, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Do you really need me to tell you that?” Bull said.

“Did I say something wrong?” Dorian looked at the others.

“Yeah,” Varric acknowledged. “Pretty much every single thing you just said, Sparkler.”

***

The stack of parchment on the desk seemed somewhat welcoming. It was a blessed distraction from the gnawing discomfort in Cullen’s stomach, anyway. Of course Dorian didn’t feel safe. He wasn’t safe. Which means Cullen had failed. Yet again.

Why did the Inquisitor insist on relying on him? Clearly, her faith was unfounded. He’d failed the mages in Kinloch, he’d failed Kirkwall and Haven, and now he’d failed the man that he....

Cullen couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought, instead reaching for the nearest sheaf of parchment and a quill. He dipped the pen with a practiced hand. Perhaps that was the problem; administrative work was a necessary part of commanding the troops, but he longed to be in the field again. Since they’d moved to Skyhold, even his training duties had been taken over by lower ranked officers. Even watching Dorian spar had been exciting. Of course that might have had more to do with watching Dorian than the actual bout. Cullen had no idea he fought so well. The way he moved in the ring, graceful, with a controlled power behind his motions, the same way that he....

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen snapped himself back to attention. He’d dripped ink on the parchment in his reverie. Clearly, his infatuation with Dorian had to end. Cullen made a mental note to ask Cassandra to spar with him. Perhaps some solid time in the practice ring would restore his focus.

It was much later, almost time to cease work for the day, when knock on the office door jolted Cullen from one of Josephine’s missives. “Enter,” he said.

“Am I interrupting?” Dorian walked in.

Cullen clenched his jaw. “Of course not, Dorian. What can I do for you?” His voice was friendly, but no more. He filed the completed report and reached for another.

Dorian flung himself into the chair across from the desk. Cullen’s stomach flipped at the familiar gesture; the realization that he was going to miss this... whatever they had, pained him more than he’d expected.

“I owe you an apology,” Dorian grinned. “I said some colossally stupid things earlier.”

“Oh?” Cullen said. “I didn’t hear anything stupid. You’re exactly right. You’re not safe here. That's my fault. I promise I’m doing all I can to correct the problem. You’ve done so much for the Inquisition; the fact that I can’t guarantee your safety in return is unconscionable. It is I who should be apologizing, not you.”

A frown began to take root on Dorian’s face. “Cullen, you can’t possibly be telling me you blame yourself for someone else’s deeply ingrained fear of mages? It’s like blaming yourself for the Blight. There was nothing you could do. I should have known better than to go out alone. If anything, you’ve created such a safe space for mages here that I lowered my guard. From a certain point of view, that's a victory.”

“How can you say that?” Cullen slammed his fist on the desk, causing the neat stack of parchment to topple. He gathered it back again, tapping the sheaf into place with more force than necessary. “I should have been more involved in screening the recruits. I should have known that Captain was not to be trusted. I’ve lived too much of my life watching over mages that were scared of their own shadow because of me. Skyhold should be a sanctuary. I’ve already received reports that some of the mages are terrified to come out of the tower alone. They’re afraid of the guards. I’ve sacrificed too much to be a party to that fear.” He rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

Dorian was looking at him, his mouth open in surprise. “Commander, I had no idea you felt so strongly about it.” 

“I do, in fact. And I’ve allowed myself to become... distracted, and in so doing, I put you and countless others at risk.” Cullen couldn’t quite meet Dorian’s eyes.

There was a pause while Cullen shuffled papers on his desk.

“You mean I distracted you, is that it?” Dorian said finally.

Cullen exhaled, letting his eyes close. The confession was on the tip of his tongue: _I’ve done nothing but think of you since we kissed. I can’t get your taste out of my mouth. I want to spend every minute writhing under your touch, begging you for my release._ “Yes.” His voice was very small.

Dorian’s laugh was sharp, bitter; Cullen’s eyes snapped open at the unexpected sound. “Well, I’m glad to know I’m worse than lyrium withdrawal, at least,” Dorian drawled. His voice had the characteristic light, mocking tone it always did, but there was an underlying sadness that wrenched at Cullen.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. What a completely inadequate thing to say. This was much harder than he thought.

Dorian frowned now in earnest. “Are you saying you don’t want to see me any longer?”

Cullen winced, no longer able to hide the pain from his face. “Dorian. You are everything I never knew I wanted. With you, I feel -” Cullen inhaled sharply, looking up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. What was the point in saying it, after all? After a deep breath, he continued. “I am no stranger to sacrifice.”

“Well, I _am.”_ Dorian snapped, jumping up from his chair to pace the room. “I am also a stranger to wallowing in self-pity, and also to turning tail and running the moment something becomes difficult. Frankly, Commander, I find it hard to believe that someone who plays such a brilliant game of chess cannot handle a minor romantic entanglement while attending to his work.”

“It’s _not_ minor, Dorian,” Cullen said, his eyes flashing with anger. “Not for me.”

Dorian blinked several times. He swallowed hard. “I see. Perhaps it’s for the best. I leave for the Exalted Plains tomorrow. I’ll be gone quite some time. Maybe we will both gain some much-needed perspective.”

“Perhaps,” Cullen said.

The silence that followed was an abyss. Everything in Cullen screamed:  _no, wrong, stop._

“Well,” Dorian said with false brightness. “I appear to have some heavy drinking to do. With your leave, Commander.” He gave a florid bow and left without waiting for a response.

After the slamming of the door, Cullen allowed himself three deep breaths before pulling the next sheet of parchment to him, concentrating hard on the words, trying to drown out the beating of his heart.

***

“I hear you have some absolutely _abhorrent_ liquor that’ll make a man forget anything,” Dorian said to Blackwall over the table.

The Warden laughed. “Grey whiskey, you mean? I’d think that’d be too coarse for your refined palate, messere.”

“Oh, it is, I assure you,” Dorian nodded. “But I find I’m in need of something stronger than this ale which I’ve grown so delightfully fond of,” he said, frowning into his tankard. His taste for the Ferelden beer served at the Herald’s Rest embarrassed him to no end.

“Whassamatter? Cully-wully break your heart?” Sera joked.

Dorian found then that his reflexes were not as quick as they once were. At one point in his life, he’d have been able to completely mask the instant of pain from his face. Alas, from the way everyone drew back and frowned in concern, this skill was a bit rusty.

“Oh, shit,” Bull said. “I’ll be right back.” The Qunari hefted his bulk from the stool.

“It’s fine,” Dorian said. “Things happen, things end. Natural order of... things.” Did he just say the word ‘things’ three times in one breath? Vishante kaffas. Had Cullen stripped him of his vocabulary as well as his emotional resilience?

“Sparkler, allow me to speak for everyone here when I say: that sucks.” Varric took a long draft from his tankard.

Trevelyan put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dorian.”

This was intolerable. Why was everyone acting like he _cared?_ Like he’d _almost_ come to accept that the devotion on Cullen’s face, the adoration, was something he deserved outside the bedroom? Like he had almost _allowed_ himself to feel the faintest flush of something real? How could they possibly know what he had not? Not until Cullen had declared it over did the spark of hope, the almost-love, flare to life and then gutter out in the same instant.

Dorian frowned. He was about to respond when the Inquisitor cut him off. “You want me to have him killed? I’d do it, no questions asked. I know people,” she said, her eyes wide with mock sincerity.

The table erupted with laughter. Dorian heaved a sigh of relief, catching Trevelyan’s barest hint of a wink.

“Here,” Bull said, handing him a flask over his shoulder.

Dorian took a swig. His esophagus burst into flame. Or at least that's what it felt like.

“What... is this?” he wheezed.

“Maraas-lok,” Bull said. “It’ll put some chest on your chest.”

That was the last thing Dorian remembered with any certainty, though flashes would come to him later. Sera’s rat-a-tat giggle had a bit of clarity to it, as did the feeling of being conked in the head by one of Bull’s horns. And possibly a story Varric told, involving a nug. Didn’t they all?

Dorian woke with a head several times larger than the one he fell asleep with, nestled in the Iron Bull’s embrace. He tensed, desperately trying to sense if he was still clothed (he was) and if there was any telltale mess (there wasn’t).

“You’re fine, Dorian. We didn’t do it,” Bull said quietly. “Though you did make a valiant effort to get my pants off.”

“Well of _course_ I did,” Dorian said. “They’re _atrocious_. I was doing the world a _favor_.” He squinted; the light trickling through the window was unseemingly bright. Had he really tried to bed the Iron Bull and failed? The idea that he couldn’t land one of the most promiscuous people in Skyhold grated on him.

“I don’t take advantage of drunk ‘Vints,” Bull said, as if reading his thoughts.

“And how many ‘Vints have you bedded, The Iron Bull?” Dorian used the full title for effect.

“None yet,” Bull said, a smile in his voice. “It’s more of a general rule.”

Dorian groaned. “I don’t suppose you have some kind of unholy Qunari antidote to the poison you fed me last night?” He peeked an eye open, looking up at Bull.

“That can be arranged,” Bull said, looking down at him indulgently.

Dorian’s shudder had little to do with his hangover and everything to do with the thought of owing Bull a favor.

 

 


	8. A Failure to Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian returns after three weeks in the Exalted Plains. Mistakes are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst! And, once again, Bull is everyone's kinky grandma. Thanks to suburbanomad for pointing that out.

It was surprising how welcoming the desolate gates of Skyhold could seem, especially to Dorian. Given what he’d experienced there, a little apprehension would be warranted. But the three weeks they’d spent in the Exalted Plains, with its demolished landscape, shambling undead, and blasted villages, had taken a toll on him. Not to mention the strain inherent in sharing a tent with Bull.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, except they were traveling with Sera, who, naturally, shared a tent with the Inquisitor. And just as naturally, they had... well, if the sounds coming from the tent every night were any indication, they might as well have been on a honeymoon.

And Bull refused to indulge in anything remotely sexual, though he insisted on holding Dorian close every night like some sort of pet. “Not until I can have you both,” Bull had said, more than once, when Dorian’s hands or mouth began to make exploratory gestures.

Dorian had patiently explained, using very small words, that ‘both’ was never going to happen. Cullen had broken it off. End of story. Bull would just shrug and give a sort of closed mouth smile that insinuated he knew something Dorian didn’t. Insufferable Qunari.

Their mounts settled at the stables, Dorian and the others climbed the steps to the Great Hall. From the landing over the courtyard, Dorian looked down into the practice ring. Cullen was sparring with Cassandra. The sight of the Commander, sword in hand, looking like the living embodiment of valor... Dorian’s breath was taken away. The weeks of separation had dulled the twinge of rejection, but now the wound was opened afresh, stinging and burning.

“Hey,” Bull’s voice cut into Dorian’s thoughts. “I need a bath. How about you?” He put a huge hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian blinked. The thought of the Qunari’s huge, muscled form covered in soap suds shattered the melancholy ideas coalescing in his head. “That sounds heavenly. Sweet talk me a little and I may even heat the water for you.”

As usual, the baths were empty. Dorian wondered if the southerners even understood what they were for; he seemed to be the only one to use them on a regular basis. Of course, he had the advantage of being able to heat the water with a thought. Had he been subjected to the ice-cold water which came from the pumps, perhaps his fastidiousness may have slipped a little.

Bull began to pump water into the large basin, rather than one of the individual tubs. Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Are we bathing together, then?”

“Feel free to heat another tub if you want some privacy. I don’t fit in the other ones,” Bull said calmly.

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” Dorian dipped a hand into the frigid liquid. “Put your hand in, let me know when it’s hot enough,” he instructed.

“Mmmm, just... there,” Bull rumbled as tendrils of steam began to waft across the surface.

“Like it hot, do you?” Dorian smirked.

“Don’t you?”

They stripped; Bull casually, with a soldier’s disregard for nudity, and Dorian awkwardly, trying to get an eyeful of Bull without being too obvious. Bull only had to doff two pieces of clothing and his boots, while Dorian’s much more complicated outfit required a bit of time to remove. As a result, Bull was already settled in the tub, openly watching Dorian remove his clothes with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Kaffas, you don’t have to watch,” Dorian muttered.

“Why not? You did,” Bull tilted his head.

With a roll of his eyes, Dorian clambered into the tub with Bull, grateful for the hot water, which hid the rising flush on his skin.

For a few moments, they both relaxed as the heat melted away some of the stiffness of a hard ride through the mountains. Eventually, Bull grabbed the soap and began to lather himself up.

Dorian gave up all pretense and gazed at the way the suds caught all of the ripples and grooves of Bull’s musculature. “You really should be arrested. Teasing is a capital offense.”

“Ha! If that's true you’d have been in jail years ago.” Bull chuckled. “They’d never let you out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorian objected.

Bull snorted. “You know how hard it is to lie next to you night after night?”

“That’s your fault,” Dorian sniffed. “You’re the one that insisted on cuddling.”

“It’s a hell of a lot warmer.” Bull handed him the soap. “Get my back, will you?”

Dorian spluttered numerous protests even as he shifted around in the tub to reach Bull’s broad back. The squawking died in his throat as he touched Bull’s skin, hot and wet and slippery. And there was so much of it to enjoy; it seemed there were acres of rippling muscles to caress and massage.

“You should consider being a bath attendant. You’d make a lot of money,” Bull said.

The voice broke Dorian’s concentration and he realized what he was doing. With a frustrated growl, he dropped the soap and splashed water on Bull’s back, rinsing him off.

Dorian lathered himself up quickly. Too much more time in this water and he’d have trouble getting out again without his arousal being obvious.

Bull had shifted around again to face him. “What’s your hurry?”

“You know very well what my hurry is,” Dorian snapped. “I can only take so much teasing. If you won’t have me then I’m not going to torture myself further.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t have you. I just want you both together, is all. I can’t give you what you need. Not the way Cullen can.” Bull said.

“Well, that's not going to happen, as I keep reminding you.”

Bull shook his head. “See, you keep saying it, but you don’t say why.”

“Because he -” Dorian sniped, biting off the words. He huffed to reset his tone of voice. “He doesn’t want me.”

“That’s not true,” Bull said.

“I beg your pardon, it most certainly is!” Dorian said. “I was there when he said it. He thinks I’m too distracting.”

Bull shook his head. “That’s just his excuse. That's not the reason, and I think you know it.”

“Fasta vass, Bull.” Dorian sagged under the weight of the words. He’d been trying not to think of it. Trying to forget the fire, the accusation, the pain in Cullen’s eyes: _it’s not minor, Dorian. Not for me._ “It’s my fault. He... he had feelings, and I didn’t return them. I didn’t let myself.”

“Why not?”

Blasted Qunari. Blasted questions. Dorian sighed in resignation. “I like him, more than I should. I was... expecting something different. Where I come from, anything between two men, it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to. Hard habit to break.”

Bull nodded. “It’s the same with Templars, you know. They’re supposed to be completely devoted to the Order.”

Dorian gazed up at the ceiling, breathing slowly and carefully, unable to meet Bull’s eye. _Of course. Of course they were._ And Cullen had been strong enough to defy that way of life. Strong enough to accept his feelings. Strong enough to break it off when Dorian could not offer the same. How many times had Dorian deflected when Cullen’s compliments were too sincere? How many times had he frowned at the admiring looks? The only way he’d accepted what Cullen had offered was in the bedroom. No wonder the man had decided to end it.

Dorian felt a tingling in his sinuses. _Kaffas, not now._ Not in front of the Qunari, of all people. He took a shuddering breath, but it was too late. He was crying, just a little, but crying all the same.

The sloshing of the water in the tub warned him a second too late. Dorian didn’t have time to evade Bull’s embrace, and the huge arms wrapped around the mage. With his face buried into the crook of Bull’s neck, Dorian found his tears refused to cease, despite his best efforts. Worse, choking sobs now caught in his throat. The indignity of it all was intolerable.

Bull cradled the back of his head as if he was a small child, cooing the kinds of soothing nonsense one says when one has a sobbing Tevinter in one’s arms. The sound seemed to vibrate through Dorian, a counterpoint to the choking breath that heaved and stuttered from his chest.

So it was that Dorian did not see or hear Cullen walk into the baths, barefoot, clad in a simple linen tunic and trousers, drenched in sweat from his bout with Cassandra. Neither did he see Bull make eye contact with the warrior, nor Bull’s almost imperceptible shake of the head when Cullen approached.

“I was weak,” Dorian said into Bull’s shoulder, unaware that Cullen could hear him. “He was so strong, and I was such a coward. And now it’s too late.” His sobs had quieted somewhat, though a few outlying hiccups wracked him.

“It’s never too late,” Bull said, staring at Cullen. “Never.”

***

Cullen crept away from the baths. Seeing Dorian in such a state gnawed at him. How could the man possibly think that he was weak? _Cullen_ was the weak one, unable to reconcile his feelings with his duty.

The weeks of separation had not been kind to Cullen. His withdrawal had come back with a vengeance, and Cassandra’s Seeker ability no longer had any effect. Instead, they sparred each day. The physical challenge was a welcome change from the tedium of his office and allowed his body to feel something other than the ache in his neck. Their bouts also neatly distracted Cullen from the absence of his chess matches with Dorian, a habit that he found he missed almost as much as the sex.

Although, Maker, he missed that too. Cullen was sure that a few weeks apart from the mage would still his desperate need, but it was not the case. Most mornings he awoke both aching and with a mess to deal with, as his body found its own release while his dreams held sway. It was like he was thirteen again. He mentally added “self-control” to his list of failures. It was getting quite long, that list.

He climbed the ladder to his quarters and cleaned himself with a damp cloth. Wasn’t as good as the bath, but it was something. He dressed and made his way back down to his desk. The neck warmer Dorian had given him hung over the brazier, as it always did. Cullen slung the warm fabric over his neck, but not before pressing it to his face, searching for the faintest hint of exotic spice, though the scent had long ago died away to nothing.

***

Eventually, Dorian’s tears ran out and he extricated himself from Bull’s arms. “You must never speak to anyone about this,” he threatened. “Crying like a baby, over a man, no less.” Dorian climbed out of the tub and began to towel off.

“I won’t tell,” Bull said, a tiny grin on his face.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “What’s that look for?”

“What look?” The innocence exuding from Bull was the opposite of convincing. “Wicked grace later? Varric’s probably eager to win back some of my money.”

With a resigned sigh, Dorian acquiesced with a wave of his hand. “I make no promises. I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough for one day. I may not be able to take any more punishment.”

There was a package waiting in Dorian’s library nook. It was the treatise on lyrium addiction he’d requested all those weeks ago from the Imperium; he’d all but forgotten that he asked for a copy. He leafed through the thin book with a desultory sigh. The likelihood of Cullen wanting to see Dorian at all, much less accept aid from him, was slim. Still... hello, what was that? An interesting tidbit leapt out at the mage and he paused to read. Without removing his eyes from the page, he sank into his chair. “Interesting,” he hummed to himself.

It wasn’t until the sun had gone down and the pages were no longer visible that Dorian realized how long he’d been reading. He lit the candles with an annoyed flick of his hand. Wicked Grace would have to wait. This was much too fascinating.

The author was a crackpot, absolutely unhinged. However, there were also some frighteningly brilliant hypotheses hidden among the ravings. Dorian, at least, could separate wheat from chaff, even if his former countrymen could not.

It was approaching midnight when the solution came to him. “Of course. Of course,” he whispered to himself. He stood, stretching the kinks from his back for a moment before setting off to find Dagna.

***

The following day, the Commander leaned over the War Table, shuffling through requisition orders. Leliana and Josephine had concluded their business with the Inquisitor, giving Cullen a few moments of Trevelyan’s attention regarding the needs of the troops. “I still think we should consider -”

The door opened, interrupting his thought. It was Dorian.

The Inquisitor waved the mage in. “Come in, Dorian,” she said. “Cullen, this’ll only take a few seconds.”

“I rather thought this would be a personal audience,” Dorian said, glancing at Cullen.

The Inquisitor shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint. What do you need?”

Dorian spluttered for a moment, caught off guard. “I... well, I think I’ve rather made an important breakthrough in treating lyrium addiction.” His voice was neutral, but he avoided meeting Cullen’s eyes.

_“What?”_ Cullen glowered at the mage.

Dorian cleared his throat. “I’ve done some research, and I have a very promising theory. Dagna provided some absolutely essential insight. She’s a treasure, by the way.”

“Don’t I know it,” Trevelyan nodded placidly. “Her runecraft is stellar.”

_“Excuse_ me,” Cullen fumed. “Are my secrets of so little value that you felt it necessary to break my trust?” He shook with rage. He should have known better than to trust the mage.

Dorian sighed sadly. “I didn’t tell Dagna _why_ I was interested. We’ve got more Templars trickling in every day. Stands to reason that some of them would be interested in giving up lyrium.” He turned to the Inquisitor. “Think of what it could mean,” he said, now trembling with excitement. “The Inquisition could offer a better way, free from the Chantry shackles. Can you imagine it?”

The Inquisitor’s eyes had widened. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

Dorian held up his hands. “I’m not saying it would be easy. Or painless. But yes. I’d need to run some experiments, of course. Nothing dangerous,” he added hastily.

Cullen turned to face him, his arms crossed. “And pray tell, _Dorian,_ who did you envision agreeing to these ‘experiments’?” He spat the words. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry at anyone but himself.

Dorian looked down. “I did this for you, Cullen. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Well,” the Inquisitor said, cutting off the burgeoning argument. “I’ll take that into consideration. Dorian, you’re free to avail yourself of whatever resources you need. That’ll be all.”

The mage tilted his head and withdrew from the room, not meeting Cullen’s glare.

Cullen’s hands balled into fists, his jaw clenched tightly. “By your leave, Inquisitor,” he said.

Trevelyan smirked at him. “What, you don’t want to discuss tent requisitions? Get out of here, Cullen. Catch him before he gets to Josephine’s office.”

Cullen barely heard her. He was already striding towards the door.

In the decrepit hallway, Cullen ran after Dorian. “Hold, Dorian,” he shouted.

Dorian paused, not turning around, his shoulders set.

“Were you planning on telling me you wanted to use my suffering to further your own career? Make me the guinea pig for your magic?” He pulled Dorian to face him. “I cannot believe you betrayed my trust.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I did no such thing, and you know it. Vishante kaffas, Cullen, I was only trying to help.”

With a frustrated growl, Cullen grabbed Dorian by the shirt and pushed him against the wall. “I don’t need your ‘help’, _mage.”_ His voice was dangerously quiet.

Dorian hissed an inhale, his eyes fluttering closed. “I know, Cullen,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I know how strong you are,” he whispered. He met Cullen’s angry glare with eyes full of pain.

The look in Dorian’s eyes sapped his own irritation. _Maker’s breath, what was he doing?_ Now that the haze of anger was gone, Cullen could see that Dorian was sincerely trying to help; it was written plain as day across his face. “Oh sweet Andraste, I’m so sorry,” Cullen breathed. He kissed Dorian, hard, his hands still clenched on the mage’s shirt.

Dorian’s answering moan spoke of loneliness and need and regret. “I... I missed you,” he confessed into Cullen’s ear as the warrior’s lips traced down his neck.

“As did I,” Cullen said. But then Cullen pulled himself away. “I can’t.” His hands came up to cradle Dorian’s face. “I can’t.”

“I don’t deserve a second chance, you mean,” Dorian said quietly, letting his hands fall from Cullen’s hips. He gazed at the floor. “I can hardly blame you.”

“Maker, no!” Cullen groaned, looking to the ceiling in frustration. “Can’t you see? I fall to _pieces_ around you. I -”

The sound of the door opening startled them both; they leapt away from each other as if electrocuted.

“Still here, gentlemen? Is there a problem?” Trevelyan asked, her face a picture of innocence.

“Not at all, Inquisitor. We were just making our way out,” Cullen said with a bow. He turned and left.

“Yes, er... quite,” Dorian said, straightening his jacket before following Cullen out.

 

 


	9. Cole helps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen are reminded of the past, thanks to Cole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but mostly angst-free!

Cullen made his way to his office, still shaken by his kiss with Dorian. He’d hoped to continue their discussion further, but a runner accosted him with a dispatch as soon as he entered the great hall. Which, like everything else, needed immediate attention. He headed to his tower.

Cullen frowned as he stepped into the room. His desk, chair, and a good portion of the floor were covered in sprigs of cherry blossom. So much for dealing with the dispatch.

“Maker’s breath, where did these come from?” Cullen stepped gingerly around the flowers.

He held a blossom up to his nose. The scent shot through his memory. Solona had smelled like cherry blossoms. Maker, that was ten years ago. Solona Amell. She had the same aura about her that Dorian possessed: magnificent, powerful, confident. He’d wanted her, sweet Andraste, how he’d _wanted_ her. But when she expressed interest, Cullen ran away. Literally ran from her, too much of a coward, too big of a failure to stand up for what he wanted. He’d regretted that, more than he could admit even to himself.

And now he’d done the same to Dorian. Running away when it got difficult. No one else in the Inquisition seemed to have difficulty keeping up a romance and getting their work done. Hell, the Inquisitor herself had slept with at least two members of the inner circle, and she seemed to have no problem saving the world on a near-daily basis. Yet Cullen couldn’t handle a casual dalliance. His list of failures was getting very long, indeed.

With a sigh, he began to gather up the sprigs, one by one.

***

Dorian settled into his chair in the library to review his notes on lyrium. Research was good. It required his full attention. The question remained of just how the residue could be extracted without damaging the tissue. _Cullen’s lips on his, open and wet and fitting together so perfectly it hurt._ There were still a few points to work out, and of course he needed to consult further with Dagna. _The way his stubbled cheek felt on Dorian’s neck._ Her runecraft was key to the whole experiment. _The scent of incense and soap and hay._ If he could just isolate the energy pattern...

The faintest tinkling sound caught his attention. There was a bottle of wine and a glass sitting on the side table next to him. How had he not noticed it before? He ran his hands over the bottle, sending a burst of magic through the wine. Whatever it was, it wasn’t poisoned. Perhaps he had a secret admirer?

With a shrug, he opened the bottle and poured a small taste into the goblet. Might as well. His ability to concentrate was already shredded. Dorian held up the glass to the window before smelling the wine with a practiced nose.

No. It _couldn’t_ be.

He took a tentative sip. By the Maker, it _was._ It was the wine that he and Rilienus had shared, or near enough like it to pass as the same grape. That was so long ago. Dorian sighed at the memory, a bittersweet pang. He’d been so in love with Rilienus, a Laetus of surprising skill and ability. He’d been, what, eighteen to Dorian’s sixteen-and-a-half? His dark skin, the curve of his lips... they’d gone on a picnic. Rilienus had brought the wine, a rough vintage, something that wouldn’t be missed from the cellar. They’d shared the bottle, sitting side by side on the riverbank, not touching. Dorian had wanted him so badly, but was afraid to ask, afraid to reach out, afraid of all of it. And then it was too late. Rilienus left, gone to Minrathous, try to make a name for himself.

With a sigh, Dorian set the glass down. The parallels between then and now were too similar to be coincidence. “Cole,” he breathed. “Always trying to help.”

Dorian rose and took the bottle with him. Might as well see what the spirit left for Cullen.

***

Cullen’s arms were full of cherry blossoms. He’d managed the door handle and was now precariously balancing the door open with one foot. He heard footsteps approaching, though he couldn’t see past the flowers. “Hello, could you give me a hand with the door, please?” Cullen called out.

He felt the door swing wide and stepped out gratefully. “Thank -” Cullen’s voice cut out when he saw Dorian smiling knowingly. “-you,” Cullen finished.

“I see our resident spirit of compassion has been hard at work.”

Of _course_ it had been Cole. Who else would do such a thing? A runner approached, trying to look as though it was normal for the Commander to have an armload of flowers. “You there, take these to the infirmary, please.” He dumped the blossoms on the poor woman. “Ah, wait, let me just....” Cullen plucked a branch from the very top of the stack. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“So,” Dorian said as they went into Cullen’s office. “I got a reminder of my cowardice,” he said, holding up a bottle of wine. “What did you get?”

“A symbol of my failure,” Cullen laughed, twirling the flower in his hand.

Dorian settled himself into the chair as Cullen fetched two glasses. He blew the dust from them and handed one to the mage.

They didn’t speak as Dorian poured the wine, nor did they toast. Cullen took a tentative sip. “This wine is....” He cleared his throat, trying to buy some time while he searched for a word other than ‘vile’.

“Awful? Yes, I know,” Dorian admitted. “It tasted a lot better when I was sixteen.”

“Ah,” Cullen smiled. “Amazing what having a palate will do to ruin nostalgia. I used to drown my oats in honey and milk. I tried it recently and my teeth hurt for an hour.”

Dorian grinned. “Are we going to draw lots to see who apologizes first? I’m pretty convinced it should be me, though.”

“You sure about that?” Cullen shook his head. “We may have to fight for it. I don’t want to leave it to chance.”

“I should have asked you whether you wanted my help for the lyrium problem before going to the Inquisitor. I’m sorry,” Dorian said. “I’d... hoped to surprise you with it. Possibly ingratiate myself back into your good graces.” He frowned into his glass and swallowed the lot.

“You were never out of my good graces, Dorian,” Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry I broke it off without a proper explanation,” Cullen said. “You... you deserve more.”

“That’s debatable,” Dorian said, pouring himself a refill. He sipped and made a face. “This truly is atrocious. I thought with some time to breathe, but alas, no,” he said, setting the goblet down on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “The question is, what do we do now?” Dorian asked, running a thumb along his jawline.

Maker, but he was gorgeous. Cullen took another swallow of the wine and winced. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was distracted. I’ve done nothing but think of you for weeks. And my withdrawal has been as bad as it was in Haven.”

“And yet Skyhold’s walls haven’t come crashing down,” Dorian noted.

“Point taken,” Cullen said. “Perhaps if my withdrawal is under control, I’d have more ability to concentrate on what matters.” He gave Dorian a half-grin.

“If that's an incentive to continue my research, consider it done. On that topic, you said Cassandra had helped you with a personal matter. Was that it? Was she using her Seeker ability to dampen magic on you?”

Cullen blinked. “She was. It stopped working. How did you know?”

Dorian shrugged. “I am brilliant, you know. May I?” The mage held out his hand.

“What are you going to do?” Cullen asked, wary.

“I can also dispel magical fields. I’d like to see if it has the same effect on you as her ability.” Dorian said, rising from his chair. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t hurt. The opposite, in fact.”

Cullen nodded, once, ashamed to find he was nervous. Dorian had used magic before, but it was different; he’d been casting the spells on himself, to warm his hands. Willingly submitting to a mage’s spell was counter to an entire lifetime of training. Cullen tensed involuntarily.

“Relax,” Dorian said, his voice soothing. “Here, turn to me. I want you to be able to see.”

Cullen scooted his chair around to face Dorian. The mage knelt down in front of him. “I won’t touch you with the spell,” he said. “You’re close enough that the magic will take effect from here. All it does is dampen magical energy, nothing more. Do you trust me?” Dorian’s face was open and comforting. Cullen realized he must look as scared as he felt.

“I... yes, of course I do, Dorian,” Cullen said. By the Maker, was his voice shaking? “It doesn’t mean I’m not frightened, though.”

“I understand,” Dorian said. “Give me your hand.”

Cullen realized his hands were clenched into tight fists. He took a deep breath and shook them out, giving his right hand to Dorian. The mage held it.

“Squeeze as hard as you like,” Dorian said. He held his other hand up. “Ready?”

Cullen nodded.

Light sparkled in Dorian’s hand, white-gold particles coalesced in a swirling pattern. Cullen gasped in relief, slumping in his chair. “Oh sweet Maker,” he whispered.

“Feels good?” Dorian said, watching Cullen’s face with a clinical eye.

Cullen gulped and nodded. “The pain is gone. It’s been weeks.”

“As I suspected,” Dorian said.

For a few moments, Dorian continued to focus, letting Cullen relax into the sensation. Finally, he spoke. “I’m afraid I have to terminate the spell,” he said. “I’ll do it slowly, give you a moment to adapt.”

The light dimmed as the pain in Cullen’s neck increased. Finally the last spark was gone. The pain, however, continued to grow. Cullen hissed, grabbing at the back of his neck as he doubled over in his chair.

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Dorian’s voice was sharp.

“The pain... much worse.” Cullen gritted.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered. “Here.” He laid his hand on Cullen’s neck, the warmth easing the stabbing pain somewhat. Cullen concentrated on breathing as Dorian massaged his neck and shoulders. The spike of pain dulled to an ache.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian said quietly. “You’ll probably never trust me again after that.”

Cullen dragged himself back to a sitting position. He was surprised to find he was sweating. “It’s fine,” he gasped. “I feel fine now. It was worth it to have a few moments of relief.”

Dorian hummed skeptically. “Well,” he said. “Apparently I’ve a bit more research to do. And you have a stack of reports higher than the Frostbacks. I’ll just remove my devastatingly distracting self from your vicinity, shall I?”

“Wait, before you go... how... how have you been?”

“You mean, am I still having panic attacks and nightmares? They’re under control,” Dorian said. “Bull helped me through the worst of it.”

Cullen felt an unfamiliar sensation, a kind of cold emptiness that curdled through him. After a second he realized it was jealousy, that Bull had been there for Dorian when he could not. “Good,” he said, after a second too long. “I want you to know, we’ve found a few others of like mind. While you were gone, Solas and Cole went through the ranks. The boy was able to identify several people who couldn’t control their hatred around Solas’ presence.” Cullen said.

Dorian laughed and stood. “That’s an innovative way to prevent crime,” he said. “Are you sure they weren’t just judging his attire? That outfit is terrible. Apostate hobo chic.”

Cullen laughed and rose as well. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work,” Dorian said, with a dashing smile. He turned to go.

“Dorian,” Cullen called after him. When the mage turned, Cullen tossed the cherry blossom to him. The mage snatched it out of the air, still smiling. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance. With a tilt of his head, he sauntered out of the office.

Cullen sighed as he watched the mage walk across the battlements through his open door. After a moment, he reached over and grabbed the mostly-full bottle of wine. He opened the window and dumped it out. It was disgusting stuff, truly.


	10. Shrine of Dumat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen both see each other in action, and are even more smitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I conflated Calpernia and Samson's Shrine of Dumat war table missions for this chapter.

The Inquisitor and her party set out for the Shrine of Dumat. Dorian was nervous, more than he’d been for any other field mission so far. Leliana had determined the place was guarded by traps, and it being a shrine to an Old God, they were likely to be magical. Battle was one thing. Dealing with eons-old Tevinter blood magic was another. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

And then there was the journey itself. Probably not the best timing for traveling with an ex-lover. Almost immediately after Dorian and Cullen chatted over the dreadful wine, the Inquisition had gotten word of Samson’s whereabouts. Cullen was thereafter cloistered with the other advisors in the War Room almost continuously. And Dorian had been busy with Dagna, working hand-in-hand to craft a runestone to treat lyrium withdrawal. It was a frantic week for them both, and then suddenly they were on the road together, casting hesitant looks across the camp and trying desperately to pretend everything was normal. This fooled approximately no one.

On the first night out from Skyhold, Dorian couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning fitfully for an hour, he gave up and stalked out of the tent. They were in Emprise du Lion; the moonlight shone wan on the landscape, bleeding it of color. Dorian settled himself at the edge of the camp, sitting on a fallen log.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Dorian almost jumped out of his skin. Cullen had crept up on him, somehow. “Fasta vass, Commander. You should be required to wear your armor all the time. You’re too quiet without the jingling.”

Cullen chuckled, leaning against a tree trunk. He looked up at the night sky.

Dorian was struck by just how bloody handsome the man was. The mage was keenly aware of his own attractiveness; he took great care to enhance his looks. Cullen didn’t seem to know just how devastating he was. The lack of awareness somehow added to his charm. “What about you? Are you in pain?” Dorian asked.

“I can endure it,” Cullen said, not shifting his gaze. The man could have been a statue, the way the moonlight leached the color from his already-pale skin and hair.

“So, that means yes, right? That's ex-Templar code for, ‘I’m in a massive amount of pain but I’m too good to complain about it’?”

Cullen laughed. “I suppose so. What’s keeping you up?”

“I miss Bull.” The words tumbled from Dorian’s lips before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. He caught the frown that crinkled Cullen’s brow for an instant. “Ah, what I mean is -”

“No need to explain,” Cullen said, waving him off. “I harbor no expectations. I know you two are... close.”

“That’s disappointing.” Dorian sighed. “I’d rather hoped you did harber expectations. Well,” he said, changing the subject. “We’re not that close,” Dorian said firmly. “Trust me, if I ever get that close to him, you’ll be there. He and I are friends, nothing more. I grew accustomed to sharing a tent with Bull. The man’s a furnace. It’s quite cold without him. And I’m not about to snuggle with Cole.”

Cullen looked down at him. “What do you mean, ‘I’ll be there’? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Oh yes,” Dorian drawled. “He talks about it frequently.”

Cullen shook his head, turning back to the night sky again. “Do such things actually happen?”

“They do. Probably more frequently for Bull than the rest of us. It can be a terribly fun time, in my experience.” Dorian shivered and stood. “However, I’d like not to think about it just now, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is the picture of the three of us in my head as Cole trawls my mind for errant thoughts, or whatever it is he does. It’d probably scar him for life.”

Cullen laughed. Dorian never got tired of seeing it. Cullen was so open and joyful in the few times that laughter could be coaxed from him. “I think you’re probably right. Then I’ll wish you a good night, Dorian.”

“Good night, Commander. Sweet dreams.”

***

They reached the Shrine of Dumat. Cullen was fraught with anticipation; Samson might finally be in their grasp. The forward troops had scouted ahead and reported that no large enemy movements could be seen outside the gates. Though smoke rose from inside the walls, the shrine itself was not large enough to host a major force. The only thing left was to breach the gates.

Dorian gazed at the intricately carved wood of the gates, inlaid with exotic metals in hypnotic patterns. After a moment, he beckoned the rest of the party closer.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, his voice clipped with anxiety.

“The gates are sealed by blood magic.” Dorian said calmly.

“Can you counteract it?” The Inquisitor asked.

“Not directly. It would require rather a lot of blood. And I do not practice such magic.”

Cullen sagged. “We have other options. We can call for reinforcements. It’ll take time, but there are sappers in Val Royeaux. We can bring down the walls.”

“That would give Samson ample opportunity to escape,” Cassandra frowned.

“There is another option.” Dorian looked at the Inquisitor. “Time magic. I can manipulate the time just around the gate. The seal is recent; it needs to be re-established each time the gate is opened. That means Venatori put the seal up the last time someone entered or exited. Can’t have been that long ago. I can turn back time around the gates to before the seal was established. If we open the gate at that point, the seal will have never existed. If I fail... well, the trap will be tripped, in which case you’ll still be able to enter the shrine. Er, minus one dashingly handsome mage, of course.”

Cullen quailed. He had no idea Dorian was so powerful. He’d read the reports about Redcliffe, of course, but Cullen had thought that the bulk of the work had been done by Alexius.

“Can you do it without the amulet?” Trevelyan asked impatiently. “As I recall, that was integral to the procedure.”

Dorian took a deep breath. “It is... extremely risky, Inquisitor. Without the amulet, I will have to focus the magic within my person. It could be... messy.”

“You mean you could explode,” Cole said.

Dorian closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, Cole, that is what I mean.”

“No,” Cullen said flatly. “I won’t allow it.”

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows and looked at the Commander. “I’m sorry?”

“Ah, what I mean is, I very strongly recommend against it.” By the Maker. Would Trevelyan really ask this of Dorian?

Dorian coughed delicately. “If I am successful, I will be largely defenseless against any enemies within the gates. Time magic is a bit... draining.”

Cullen bit his tongue. Surely the Inquisitor would see the folly of this plan. He’d seen how ruthless she could be at the War Table, but here in the field, with the consequences so near, could she truly sacrifice Dorian?

Trevelyan considered for a moment. “Do it,” she said, nodding curtly. Dorian bowed his head and walked back towards the gates.

“What?” Cullen said, aghast.

“Did I stutter?” she asked. “Dorian wouldn’t have suggested it unless he was capable. We don’t have weeks to wait for sappers to arrive, Cullen. Dorian knew the risks when he signed up. As did you.”

Cullen took a deep breath. “Of course, Inquisitor. Might I volunteer to provide defense for our mage?” He hoped the frustration he felt was not evident in his voice.

“Absolutely, Commander.” The Inquisitor gave him a tight grin.

Cullen ran to Dorian. “Wait,” he called.

Dorian turned. He had the beatific look of a man condemned. It tore at Cullen’s chest. “Yes, Commander?”

“I... I’m to offer you defensive support. Because you will inevitably succeed in opening the gates,” Cullen said, hoping his grin was remotely convincing.

The sad smile Dorian gave him in return told him he’d failed. “Thank you, Commander. Stand fifteen paces away from the gates.” Dorian turned back towards his task.

“Wait,” Cullen said again, insistent. “I wasn’t done.”

Dorian turned again. “What is it, Commander?” His voice was weighed by impatience.

“I... I have something for you.” Cullen said, not knowing exactly why he was saying it. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver coin. “The... the day I left for Templar training, my brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”

Dorian stared at the coin. “You broke the Order’s rules? I’m shocked.”

Cullen chuckled nervously. “Until a year ago I was very good at following them. Most of the time. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me. Humor me. We don’t know what you’ll face. This... can’t hurt.”

Dorian curled the Commander’s fingers around the coin. “Keep it. I don’t want your luck running out.”

The bottom seemed to drop out of Cullen’s stomach. Dorian had told him all he needed to know about the true chances of his survival. “Dorian, I -”

“Fifteen paces, Commander. No closer.” Dorian interrupted.

Cullen nodded. “Fifteen paces,” he repeated. The Commander turned and counted off his steps.

Dorian turned to face the gate. Cullen knelt in prayer, his sword thrust into the ground in front of him, Andraste 7 coming unbidden to his lips: _Let the blade pass through the flesh. Let my blood touch the ground. Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._ Cullen repeated the canticle over and over, in the barest whisper.

Dorian raised his arms wide. A whirlwind began to spin dust around him, the circumference growing in spurts as he focused his energy. Light began to bend, refract, as time shattered into particles. It was one of the most beautiful things Cullen had ever seen.

_Let the blade pass through the flesh._

Cullen watched as energy coalesced around Dorian, glowing, glorious, shimmering. Then the Tevinter whipped his arms forward, directing the spell at the gates. Cullen’s breath was taken away to see the raw power Dorian held in his hands. He’d seen more than his share of powerful magic. This was on a scale he'd never even dreamed was possible. One man, one utterly magnificent man, manipulating time itself, sacrificing himself for the Inquisition. Cullen felt like his heart would burst.

_Let my blood touch the ground._

Something was happening to the wood. Color began to drain from the dizzying pattern. Hazy figures could be seen in front of the gates, their movements jerky, stuttering. Cullen realized he was seeing them move backwards. The spell was working.

_Let my cries touch their hearts._

Cullen watched the blood sacrifice in reverse. Bodies rose from prone on the ground, their blood streaming back to them from the gates, knives drawn out of their flesh, wounds healed. The amount of blood which poured out from the gates was horrific. Yet another reason to find Samson; this blood was on his hands.

_Let mine be the last sacrifice._

The time magic began to slow. Dorian slumped under the weight of it, his willpower ebbing as the spell wrung through him. The hazy figures dissipated; the gates seemed to return to normal color.

“Now.”

Cullen heard the hissing command issue from Dorian’s lips, even as the mage began to topple. The Commander sprinted to the gates, kicking them open a fraction of an inch. They opened easily. He looked back at Dorian.

The mage collapsed.

Cullen ran to him, faintly aware of the Inquisitor and the others rushing to breach the gates fully. “I’ve got you,” Cullen said. He pulled Dorian close, the man’s limp body unresponsive. “I’ve got you, Dorian.”

Dorian blinked slowly. His lips curled into a smile. Thank the Maker.

Cullen could hear the sounds of battle behind him. “Let mine be the last sacrifice,” Cullen said, setting Dorian down on the ground gently. With a gulping breath, he drew his sword, turning to face the horrors within the gates.

***

Dorian’s energy had been completely sapped by the spell; he barely had enough to keep his heart beating and lungs breathing. He’d been forced to draw on his own health to supplement the magic flowing through him, a risky endeavor even under the best circumstances. It had, unfortunately, gotten away from him. He was already starting to feel cold as his body abandoned the attempt to keep his limbs warm. Cullen cradled him, murmuring reassurances before dashing off to do battle. It was sweet. The man probably had no idea that Dorian’s life hung on a hair’s breadth. He was in much more danger from the aftereffects of the magic than whatever enemies lay within.

From his vantage point on the ground, Dorian had no choice but to watch as Cullen fought the red templar behemoth stationed just inside the gates. Dorian had witnessed Cullen’s skills as a warrior once, and then only for a brief moment and from a distance.

Bull, Cassandra, and Blackwall were consummate fighters, down to their bones; their skill telegraphed in every move they made, despite their disparate fighting styles. Cullen, though, seemed to be more than that. He was not just a fighter, but a holy warrior, his whole body a weapon for the Maker, his blade and shield alight with Andraste’s blessed flame.

Cullen’s agility in armor was stunning. He should not have been able to move with such feline grace. Suddenly Dorian understood why Cullen wore the furred cape. In battle, the man moved like a lion. Dorian was filled with emotion, a kind of yearning admiration he could not name, something he’d never truly known, or even hoped to know.

Cullen darted away from the behemoth’s attacks, countering with a flurry of blows and shield bashes. The lumbering monster was no match for the fury of the Commander. He began a series of strikes that would have been beautiful, had they not also been so deadly. Cullen spun and slashed low with the bottom edge of his shield, then wheeled to bring the tip of his blade up to slice at the red templar’s throat. A gout of almost black blood spilled forth.

Before the creature had even fallen to the earth, Cullen was back at Dorian’s side, carefully lifting the mage’s head and shoulders, a look of concern on his face. “Are you alright?” He murmured.

“Yes. Tired,” Dorian said weakly.

“Do you need a potion?” Cullen asked, looking at him carefully.

A potion wouldn’t help. He wasn’t injured, exactly, just utterly spent. Still, he could feel his strength returning. Dorian managed the slightest shake of his head. “Rest,” he said. Dorian relaxed, cradled in the Commander’s arms. It was surprisingly comfortable. He let his eyes fall closed for the moment.

Dorian could hear Trevelyan and the others in the courtyard of the shrine, fighting the remainder of the red templars. He concentrated on moving the air in and out of his lungs. Through it all, Cullen held him close, stroking his hair. The sounds of battle ceased and Cullen relaxed his embrace somewhat. Dorian forced his eyes open.

The Inquisitor and the others rushed back. “You did it, Dorian,” Trevelyan crowed. “I knew you would.” Her smile faded as she saw him. “What happened?”

“It was too much, too hungry, the blood called to his own. He gave of himself to feed it.” Cole said.

“He’s just tired,” Dorian heard Cullen say. “I’ve seen it in Kirkwall. He needs rest.”

They paused to gather their breath. The courtyard was a shambles, completely destroyed. The smoke they’d seen was not from campfires, but the shrine itself. The destruction appeared to be caused by sabotage.

Still, no enemies rushed them. After a few minutes, Dorian was able to rise, though he leaned heavily on Cole for support. “Shall we see what Samson has in store, Inquisitor?”

The answer was: very little. A few scraps of tools, a suicidal Tranquil, and the angry grimace of red lyrium emerging like crooked teeth. Cullen knew the Tranquil, a man named Maddox. Dorian’s stomach churned to see the man so powerless. It was a fate worse than death, as far as Dorian was concerned. And this one had poisoned himself, out of loyalty to the Templar who was trying to destroy them.

The rest was a blur. Dorian was too exhausted to notice much. He faded in and out, not really able to follow conversations, focusing on keeping himself in his saddle as they rode back to the nearest Inquisition camp.

He tumbled to his bedroll well before dark; indeed, he skipped the evening meal entirely. He awoke with a start at some point during the night to find the person sharing his tent was not Cole, but Cullen. The man had wrapped himself around Dorian, just as he’d done all those weeks ago, after the attack.

In his confusion, Dorian squirmed. Cullen awoke immediately. “Are you all right?”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “Well, I’m alive, and in the arms of a handsome blond. Could be worse.”

Cullen exhaled a silent stream of laughter into the mage’s neck. “Fair enough,” he acknowledged. “I know mages can have trouble keeping their body temperature up after draining their mana. I thought you might like the extra warmth, so I traded with Cole.”

Dorian nodded sleepily, pulling Cullen close. It felt wonderful. Bull had given Dorian a taste for cuddling; this was even better, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly. “The warmth is most appreciated, Commander,” he said.

“I know what you did at the gates. I know the price you almost paid," Cullen murmured.

“Do you?” Dorian answered.

“Some Templars would consider that blood magic, using your own body as fuel for your power.”

Dorian laughed weakly. “I'm glad you're not just any Templar, then.” The pause that followed was vast. “Er, are you?”

Cullen’s body tensed.  “I'm not proud of who I've been, Dorian. I'm glad I met you when I did."

Dorian didn't know what to make of that statement. It sounded like a confession. "Oh?” He could feel the Commander's lips on his neck, the soft breath and the shock of stubble.

There was another pause, in which Cullen drew Dorian even closer, as if the Commander needed the contact, the heat. Dorian felt sleep beginning to overtake him. If Cullen was on the verge of telling him something important, it would have to wait. Dorian let his eyes fall closed and yawned. “I’m glad I met you at all, Cullen. You’re not as warm as Bull, but you smell better.” Slumber drifted over Dorian as the sensation of Cullen’s silent laughter wove through his body.

 

 


	11. Runestone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen begins the treatment for lyrium addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail the return of smut!

Upon their return to Skyhold, Cullen was immediately swamped with runners, surrounding him like flies as he dismounted from his horse. He handed his mount to one of Dennett’s assistants and made his way to his office, the cloud of couriers trailing behind.

After so much time away from the keep, Cullen’s desk was literally groaning with reports, the scrolls and parchments sliding to the floor. He sighed in frustration. “You there,” he said to a fresh-faced young man with a glimmer of intelligence behind his eyes. “To whom do you report?”

The runner gave him a crisp salute. “Ser. I report to Sister Nightingale.”

Cullen unbuckled his sword belt. “Not anymore. Go tell Leliana that I’m in need of an assistant, then report back. If she insists on burying me in paperwork, the least she can do is spare one of her flock.”

The man saluted again and trotted off.

His name turned out to be William, a serious lad of twenty. He was one of the newest recruits from among the Ferelden refugees. He was quiet, seemed smart enough, and most importantly, he could read and write.

By late afternoon, they’d made considerable headway. There were neat stacks of parchment arrayed across the desk, sorted by topic. Cullen wondered what kind of favor he’d owe Leliana for poaching William. The lad had a knack for organization, something a spymaster would find very useful. Still, the help was well overdue. Cullen should have commandeered an assistant ages ago.

A crisp knock rang on the door, which opened without waiting for an invitation. “Interrupting, am I?”

Cullen broke out into a broad grin. “Dorian,” he said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I? But you just saw me this morning, Commander,” he batted his eyelashes. “How sore could your eyes have possibly gotten in such a short time?” The mage’s gaze fell onto William. “What’s this? Oooh, you’ve got yourself a helper! What’s your name, little boy?” Dorian leaned forward, putting his hands on his thighs as if addressing a child or a pet.

“Dorian!” Cullen had meant it to be an admonishment, but he couldn’t help but laugh.

Thankfully, the lad laughed as well, albeit respectfully. “It’s William, Ser Pavus.” His salute was impeccable and he returned to standing at attention, the faintest hint of a smile playing across his lips.

“Very nice. _Very_ nice,” Dorian said, nodding in approval. “I like them with a sense of humor, you know. And the red hair is quite a nice touch. Those freckles are enchanting.”

William’s eyes were sparkling just a bit too much for Cullen’s taste. “Dorian,” he laughed, “Are you actually flirting with my assistant? In front of me?”

“Well someone has to,” Dorian shrugged. “You’d better hide him from Bull, though. The man is _crazy_ for redheads.”

William’s eyes widened a bit, and then he blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath.

“Don’t ever play Wicked Grace, my dear boy,” Dorian smirked.

Cullen groaned, wiping his hands down his face. “Dorian, what are you doing here? Surely you didn’t come just to corrupt the youth of the Inquisition?”

“No, but, two birds....” he said, winking at William. A deep red flush had begun to burn under the boy’s freckles.

“Dorian, please,” Cullen said, raising his eyes heavenward in frustration.

With a sigh of exaggerated contentment, Dorian flung himself into the chair. “Ah me, but I do love to see a handsome man beg.” William was now beet red. “I do have something to discuss, Commander, your ears only.”

“Maker’s breath, was that so difficult?” Cullen shook his head. “Excellent work, William. I think you’ll do nicely. You’re dismissed for the day. Be here at eight bells in the morning.”

The still-blushing lad bowed his leave. Cullen had to admit, his etiquette was flawless. Knew when to laugh, knew when to take orders.

Dorian caught him by the wrist as he passed. “Just wait outside a tic, there’s a good boy.”

Once the door was shut behind the furiously blushing William, Dorian drawled, “Well, _he’s_ delightful. I wonder if I could requisition a hot young assistant to follow me about, feed me grapes, obey my every command. Mmm, I’d like that.”

It was Cullen’s turn to blink rapidly and breathe deep. Maker, how he longed to obey Dorian’s every whim. The memory of the mage pulling pleas from Cullen’s lips flooded back to him. He closed his eyes and took another breath, trying to dispel the sense memory wracking his body.

When he opened his eyes, Dorian was looking at him with that possessive gaze. “Was it something I said, _Commander?”_

Cullen clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose. “You...” He cleared his throat. “I believe you had something to tell me?”

The mage grinned playfully. Thank the Maker. Cullen wasn’t sure how much more of that other look he could take.

“My research is complete. Dagna has crafted a runestone that should be able to relieve your symptoms. It may take a few treatments, a bit of tweaking. But the effects will be permanent, once the treatment is done. You’ll be free of lyrium forever.” Dorian said. “If that's what you want, of course.”

“Maker, is it truly possible?” Cullen shook his head. “I never dreamed...” He rubbed the back of his neck, the habit now so deeply ingrained that he hardly realized he was doing it. “What’s involved?”

“It’s relatively simple. And I don’t expect you to go through this alone. I’d recommend that Cassandra be there, in case we need her abilities as a Seeker. And the Inquisitor, of course. I’d like Dagna to be there, but if you’re uncomfortable with her knowing about your situation, it’s not completely necessary.” Dorian hesitated. “I do have to warn you, it is likely to be painful.” Dorian’s previously light tone had grown serious.

“I’d endure any pain to be free of it forever. When can we start?”

“Tonight, if you like,” Dorian said. “Meet me in my quarters after dinner.”

“Your quarters?” Cullen was taken aback.

“You’ll have to take off your shirt. The runestone has to make contact with your skin. My quarters are warm and private. If you can think of a better place, I’m all ears.”

Cullen considered it. Dorian made sense. Although heaven knew what kind of rumors would start if people saw such an odd crowd gathered in the mage’s room. “Fine. And - thank you,”

“You’re most welcome, Commander,” Dorian said sincerely. He rose and turned to leave.

“Dorian, one more thing. Why did you ask William to stay?” Cullen tried to keep his voice light, curious. They hadn’t exactly settled things between them. Maker knows Dorian was probably tired of waiting. Cullen could hardly blame him. Still, he’d hoped....

Dorian’s chuckle interrupted the spiral of thought. “I owe Bull a favor. I think an introduction to our young William is in order.”

Cullen gaped. “You... what... he’s not a _gift,_ surely?”

Dorian shrugged. “Well I’m not going to wrap him in a bow, if that's what you mean. I’ll see you later, Commander.” With a devilish wink, Dorian sauntered out of Cullen’s office.

After dinner that evening, Cullen knocked on Dorian’s door.

“Commander,” Dorian greeted him. “Excellent. We’re all assembled. Come in, come in.”

The others had already crowded into Dorian’s small room. Cassandra was scowling, though, to be fair, when was she not scowling? Dagna was practically giddy with excitement, hopping from foot to foot. And the Inquisitor was flipping through one of Dorian’s books with interest. Cullen noted that the cover featured a barely-clad man with huge muscles.

“This is so exciting,” Dorian said, clapping his hands together. “We’re making history,” he said to Dagna.

“I know!” she squeaked. “I can’t wait!”

“All right, let’s begin. Commander, pop off your shirt, if you would, and lie down on your stomach.” Dorian instructed.

“Why does he need to disrobe?” Cassandra’s frown deepened.

“The runestone needs to make contact with the skin, to draw the dormant lyrium out,” Dorian explained, fussing with some gloves and a lidded box.

“Dormant lyrium?” Cullen said, unlacing the ties at his collar.

“Er, yes,” Dorian said, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He glanced at Cassandra and the Inquisitor. “You... do know how lyrium works?”

Six eyes stared back at him blankly.

“Oh dear,” Dagna said.

“Dorian, I’m a soldier,” Cullen said, a trace of annoyance working its way into his voice. “I don’t need to be a metallurgist to know how to hold a sword.”

The mage laughed. “An apt analogy, Commander. I apologize. I’ll just give an overview, then, while you get settled.” He pulled on a set of thick leather gloves inscribed with runes. “Lyrium, in its natural state, is magically charged - tied to the Fade. For mages, it increases our ability to draw power from beyond the veil. Once you ingest it, however, it doesn’t go away. The magical charge recedes, but the lyrium itself stays in your system. The dormant lyrium constantly seeks the Fade. The discomfort you feel is the lyrium you’ve ingested over the years, yearning for the Fade, as it were.”

“It’s like baby birds, cheeping for food,” Dagna said, grinning.

“Quite,” Dorian agreed. “Since mages use magic on a regular basis, we’re less susceptible to the withdrawal - the lyrium has a constant supply of ‘fuel’.”

“But Templars don’t use magic,” Cullen said as he laid down on the bed.

“Exactly,” Dorian said, his eyes coming alight. “So, what does the lyrium in a Templar feed on? Simply being around magic can provide a bit of relief, and in a Circle, you’re around mages constantly. But it’s not enough. So, you need more lyrium. If you ingest a fresh philter, the dormant lyrium in your system gobbles up the magical charge of the fresh lyrium. Eventually you need more and more and more, and... well. You know the rest.”

“So, what does the runestone do?” The Inquisitor asked.

“It’s like a magnet,” Dagna said. “It’ll draw the dormant lyrium through the skin. Cullen probably has a lot of it in his system because he was a Templar for so long. It collects in the back of the neck and the head, since that's the part of the brain responsible for magical ability.”

“Cassandra, my dear, if you could prepare yourself,” Dorian said, opening the box. “If this goes wrong, we’ll need you to dampen the magic rather quickly.”

Cullen tried to relax, breathing deeply. Experimental magic was not his comfort zone.

“All right. Let’s get started,” Dorian said. “Commander, I’ll need you to provide a detailed description of how this feels.”

Cullen noted the zeal in the mage’s voice. At least someone was looking forward to this. He nodded.

Dorian placed the stone on the nape of Cullen’s neck. The Commander gasped in surprise.

“How does it feel?” Dorian asked quickly.

“It hurts,” Cullen winced. “I’m not sure I can describe it. Like an electrical shock and heat, but, in reverse.”

“Do you need me to stop?” Dorian asked intently.

“No,” Cullen said. “I can... it’s fine, keep going.”

“Ooh, it’s glowing!” Cullen heard Dagna say from behind him. “You can see the lyrium! It’s so pretty!”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

Dorian slowly moved the runestone over Cullen’s neck and upper shoulders. The pain was intense, but fleeting. Unfortunately, it was markedly similar to the sensation of Dorian scraping his red-hot nails along Cullen’s skin. The Commander’s body was beginning to get confused.

“Just a bit more,” Dorian said. “You’re doing very well, Commander. I have to say, you’re enduring this beautifully.”

Cullen groaned into the pillow. The mage’s encouragement was _not_ helping. He shifted his hips on the bed, trying to ease the growing pressure in his breeches.

“You all right?” the Inquisitor asked.

Cullen nodded.

“Just a little longer. Almost there. You’re doing very well. Beautiful. So good. Just a bit more,” Dorian cooed.

Cullen gritted his teeth. That was not what he needed to hear right now.

“And... we’re done,” Dorian said, removing the runestone.

Cullen’s body seemed to melt a bit, as his muscles relaxed into the bed. He hadn’t realized how tense he was.

“Why are you stopping?” Cassandra asked.

“The rune can only house so much of the dormant lyrium. Dagna can purge it in the undercroft and we can do more treatments later. How do you feel, Commander?” Dorian asked.

Cullen shifted his head to the side. “The ache is less than it was, and the pressure.”

“Any lingering pain from the rune itself?” Dorian shucked off his gloves and smoothed his hands over Cullen’s skin.

The Commander fought the urge to groan in pleasure at the contact. He did shut his eyes, however. “No, none.” he said, breathing deeply.

“Well, this certainly has been promising,” the Inquisitor said, rising from her seat. “Cullen, I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to continue treatment. It doesn’t seem pleasant, that's for sure. But if we can offer this to other former Templars, we can help to undo some of the damage the Chantry has done over the years. Good work, you two,” she said to Dorian and Dagna.

“Thanks, Inquisitor!” Dagna chirped. “I can’t wait to get the dormant lyrium out of this. It’s gonna be so great!” She scampered out, carrying the box with the runestone close to her chest.

“Do you require assistance to rise, Commander?” Cassandra asked.

“Ah, no,” Cullen said. “I’ll be fine. I... just need to relax for a moment.”

The Inquisitor was pulling at Cassandra’s elbow, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure they have it under control. Come on, Seeker.” With a wink at Dorian, Trevelyan yanked a confused-looking Cassandra out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

“So,” Dorian said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “That went well, I think. Are you all right? You haven’t moved much.”

Cullen coughed delicately. “I have a bit of a situation,” he said.

“What sort of - ohhhhh,” Dorian said, nodding. “I see. Interesting.”

Cullen groaned in embarrassment. “It’s your fault,” he laughed. “The stone felt just like your hand did, when we...” He cleared his throat, not sure how to put it. “And what you said didn’t help. _‘Just a bit longer, almost there’?_ By the Maker, Dorian. You should choose your words more carefully.”

Dorian swatted him on the arm. “I was trying to be supportive, you clod.”

“Oh, I’m a clod, now, am I?” _I’m your clod, if you’ll have me,_ Cullen thought.

Only he hadn’t thought it. He’d _said_ it, out loud. He didn’t even realize until he saw Dorian’s eyes widen in response.

The mage was looking down at him. He brought his hand up and stroked Cullen’s hair gently, not speaking.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Cullen said, when the pause became unbearable. “I can go.” He started to push himself off the bed.

“No,” Dorian said, simply. “Stay. Stay with me.” His eyes had that possessive look, and he ran his fingertips down Cullen’s arm.

Cullen shivered. “Are you sure?”

Dorian pushed his shoulder, rolling him to his back, while simultaneously climbing astride him. “Quite sure,” Dorian said, leaning down to kiss him. It was the sort of kiss that promised many more to come, and then Dorian’s lips began to trace along Cullen’s jawline to his ear.

“Maker, _yes,”_ Cullen sighed, half-prayer, half-plea, as Dorian bit and sucked the skin where neck met shoulder. He’d have a mark tomorrow, the red-purple skin standing out against the pale flesh.

“I need you,” Dorian said, groaning into Cullen. It wasn’t clear if this was a confession or a demand. “I need you.”

“You have me,” Cullen breathed.

A moment followed: fumbling with laces and buttons and trousers and sleeves, fabric being yanked desperately from limbs and flung about the room. Their hands sought each other, stroking and caressing and needing to be everywhere at once.

Dorian yanked open the top drawer of his nightstand and retrieved a small bottle. “Cullen. I want to fuck you.”

“Oh yes, yes. Please.” Cullen sighed.

There was the sound of a small cork being pulled, and then Dorian’s fingers, gloriously slicked, were pressing into Cullen. He bucked against the pressure, warbling a moan as he was stretched more quickly than he thought possible. The burning frisson only made him _want_ more.

One finger, then two, then three. Dorian thrust at an angle that drew whimpers from Cullen’s throat. And then, sweet Maker, he felt the mage himself slowly making the climb from tip to hilt.

Their eyes met, both of them breathless, intent.

“Yes.”

It was Cullen who whispered first, into the gray gaze which had held him. Dorian thrust in response, into Cullen’s tight, slick heat. It was indescribable, like fucking pure glory.

“Yes.”

Now Dorian answered, his _yes_ answering Cullen’s as if it had been a question. And then another yes, and another, another, in time with the hard, slow thrusts.

Dorian began to tremble. He pulled Cullen’s hand up to his mouth eagerly sucking the fingers, slicking them. Cullen whined in pleasure at the sensation before Dorian pulled the hand away, and pressed it to Cullen’s leaking cock, smearing with wet fingers.

“Soon,” Dorian commanded, not breaking his rhythm, though his jaw was clenched with effort.

Nodding, Cullen tugged at himself, twirling his hand, wincing with effort. His breath was catching in heavy gasps.

“Tell me,” Dorian said. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

Cullen groaned. “I’ve wanted this so long, I’ve _\- fuck -_ dreamed of it, please, I wake every morning aching for you,” he said, his voice a pleading moan. “Please. Please, _\- oh yes -_ give it to me. All of you, I want it so much, please, please. Yes, that's so good, I... _ah!_ Please just take me. Fuck me. Harder. Ah, please, harder. I need it so badly, _ungh,_ I... please, I’m so close, please let me come, please. Please.”

It was not just with words that Cullen begged, but with his entire being: his eyes, his body, all of him.

Dorian let out a strangled gasp. “Yes. Come for me. Now.”

Cullen shuddered, spurting on them both, staring up at Dorian even as he clenched around the mage’s cock. The sensation drove Dorian to the edge, thrusting wildly into Cullen, filling him, keening a moan at his release.

Dorian collapsed on to Cullen. They were both trembling with aftershocks. After a few seconds, Dorian clutched at the edge of the blankets, trying to draw the fabric around their bodies without moving.

“I don’t think that's going to work,” Cullen chuckled. “We’re laying on top of them.”

Dorian groaned. “Shatter my dreams, why don’t you?” He rolled off Cullen and the bed with extreme reluctance.

The warrior scooted under the blankets, holding them up so Dorian could scamper underneath. The mage sighed at the blessed warmth. “I don’t think you’re a clod,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re mine.”


	12. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull finally gets his wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some smut.

The next morning, Dorian woke up alone. The disappointment he felt was novel; he’d never really wanted to wake up next to someone before. Or had never admitted it himself. He chuckled to himself as he swung his legs out of the bed. The Commander was definitely getting under his skin. For once the realization didn’t fill him with panic.

He made his way to the dining hall. Varric and Bull were eating breakfast. Cole was there as well, staring as Bull ate a forkful of eggs. No doubt it was part of Varric’s never-ending quest to humanize the spirit.

“That was going to be chickens, some day,” Cole said.

“Yeah, see, you’re making it weird,” Bull said.

“How was your night, Sparkler?” Varric smirked.

Dorian frowned. The experiment was still a secret. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” Even as the words left his lips, Dorian knew the statement would not be left to stand. He took a roll from the basket and began to butter it.

“Yeah, well, I ran into Cullen as he was leaving your chamber this morning,” Varric said.

“Oh _that,”_ Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “That. Cullen. Yes. _That_ I can talk about.”

They looked at him expectantly. He ate his roll calmly.

“Well?” Varric laughed.

“I said I _can_ talk about it. I didn’t say I was _going_ to. Pass the tea, would you, Cole?”

The boy handed him the teapot. “It doesn’t remember when it was leaves.”

“Er, quite,” Dorian said.

“Come on, you _have_ to tell us,” Varric wheedled. “Was it good, at least?”

Dorian scoffed. “Of course it was good, Varric. _I_ was there. A night involving one as handsome and talented as myself is always _good.”_

“Well I can see this is going nowhere,” Varric said, rising. “Come on, kid.” The dwarf led the boy out of the dining hall.

Bull leaned his elbows on the table. “So, is this the part where you admit I was right?”

Dorian grinned and deflected the question. “How did you enjoy _your_ night, Bull? Young William seemed quite happy to make your acquaintance.”

Bull gave a breathy grunt of satisfaction. “Redheads. I can never get enough of them.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Would be a shame for all those freckles to go unappreciated.” Dorian grinned.

“Young William is going to need a night to recover,” Bull said. “I’ll be around later. If you and Cullen need me for anything.” He stood, his huge hand squeezing Dorian’s shoulder.

“I may take you up on that,” Dorian said, looking up at Bull with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

***

Cullen arrived in his office a few minutes late. William was standing at attention beside his desk. Maker’s breath. He’d forgotten all about the lad. And here he was, late. Setting a grand example already.

“Ah, yes. Good, you’re here.” Cullen settled himself behind the desk. “Hand me that quill, would you?”

William held the quill out to Cullen. His wrist was circled with purple bruises, the sort caused by ropes.

Cullen blinked in surprise, catching William’s eye. The lad was trembling slightly but offered no explanation for the marks. Apparently his introduction to the Iron Bull had gone rather well.

“It’s fine, William. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun.” Cullen took the quill and grabbed a report from the top of the nearest stack.

William relaxed visibly. The poor lad probably assumed Cullen would disapprove. Far from it. Cullen had to read the report three times before he finally comprehended the words; his mind kept wandering to daydreams involving Bull and Dorian and ropes. He was tempted to send William away and scamper up the ladder to take care of himself. _Self-indulgent nonsense,_ he chided himself. _What are you, thirteen?_

Still, throughout the day, Cullen would catch a glimpse of the marks and his concentration would burst. And it wasn’t just the bruising on William’s wrists. A deep purple bite mark was partially hidden by the lad’s hood, but Cullen caught sight of it when William leaned over. By noon, the Commander gave up trying to read.

“Let’s break for lunch.” Cullen said. “We can pick this back up at two hours past noon.”

The Commander made his way to the practice ring. Cassandra wasn’t around, so he set upon the practice dummies instead. This helped immensely; soon, he was too tired to think about anything.

The dummy had been reduced to shreds when Cullen finally sheathed his sword. He was drenched in sweat. A bath, a change of clothes, and a meal were definitely in order. He turned around and almost ran smack into Bull.

“Hey, Cullen,” the Qunari greeted him. “How’s it going?”

Cullen looked at Bull suspiciously. “Bull,” he said, politely. “I assume there’s a reason you snuck up on me?”

Bull shrugged, smiling. “Habit, I guess. Heard you had a good night.”

“Oh Maker’s breath,” Cullen rolled his eyes. “I could say the same for you. William’s covered in bruises.”

Bull’s grin widened. “I know. Redheads have such delicate skin. So do blonds.”

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Any progress he’d made in distracting himself was shattered. He could practically feel the burning sensation of rope around his wrists.

“I talked to Dorian. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I’ll be around later, if you two need me for anything,” Bull said, now standing much too close for polite society.

Cullen’s eyes were still closed, but he could feel the heat coming from the Qunari’s chest. He opened his eyes and looked up. “Is that so?” Maker, did his voice really have to break now, of all times?

“Just letting you know.” Bull’s words were completely innocent. How he managed to imbue them with such lust was beyond Cullen.

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Cullen’s voice had apparently failed him; the statement came out as a whisper.

“Enjoy your bath,” Bull grinned.

Cullen stepped away from him, not trusting himself to ask how Bull knew he was going to bathe.

The baths were empty. Cullen pumped water into one of the tubs, still shaky from his conversation with Bull. He disrobed quickly and clambered into the icy water, scrubbing at himself with the soap.

“Hello, what’s this?” Dorian rounded the entrance, grinning.

Cullen groaned. “This cannot possibly be a coincidence,” he accused. His teeth had begun to chatter.

Dorian smiled broadly, sauntering over. “My dear Commander, allow me to heat that water for you. Your lips are turning blue, poor thing.” He waved his hand.

The sudden change in water temperature sent a jolt through Cullen, a cold sort of burning that he’d never experienced. He hissed, then relaxed as the warmth began to curl through him.

Dorian squatted down next to the tub, fixing him with a possessive look. “Better?”

“Much,” Cullen said. “Thank you.”

“What do you think about Bull’s suggestion?” Dorian asked. He glanced down into the water. “You seem very interested.”

The breath whooshed out of Cullen’s lungs.

Dorian’s lips curled indulgently at the reaction. “Been thinking about it, have you?”

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, no, Chantry boy. Keep those gorgeous eyes open. Look at me.” Dorian said.

With a gasp, Cullen wrenched his eyes open. “Yes,” he breathed. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Dorian hummed appreciatively. “And what do you do when you think about it? Perhaps you should show me.”

Cullen’s eyes flicked to the entrance to the baths. There was no door, just an archway to the corridor.

“Do you want to stop?” Dorian said, his voice no longer seductive, but concerned. “All you have to do is say it.”

Cullen took a deep breath. He’d never, ever seen anyone else in the baths at midday, aside from the time he’d interrupted Dorian himself. And Dorian wasn’t even touching him. They were just having a quiet conversation. Nothing untoward. Cullen shook his head. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then show me,” Dorian insisted.

Cullen wrapped his fingers around himself. The water caused a bit of friction, which was probably for the best. He was so aroused that it wouldn’t have taken much to finish.

“Mmmm, that's very nice,” Dorian said. “And what do you think about? Tell me.”

Wincing slightly, Cullen gasped out a whisper, staring into Dorian’s gray eyes: “I think about, ungh, I think about you, and Bull, and oh Maker, I think about watching him take you and - ah! - and I think about being tied up and, oh please, please, Dorian.” He was very close now.

“Not yet,” Dorian said. “Tell me more.”

“Ah, I... I....” Cullen fought to contain himself. “I think about having you both, you in my... ah - you in my ass and him in my mouth and... please, please, please.” His breath was coming in shuddering gasps, little silent sobs. “Please, Dorian.”

“You’re so beautiful when you beg.” Dorian ran the back of his hand along his stubbled cheek. He held the back of Cullen’s neck. “You can come now.”

Cullen made a squealing whimper as he came, spurting into the water, his hips rutting, still staring at Dorian.

Dorian’s thumb rubbed Cullen’s neck as he recovered. “There. Don’t you feel better?”

With a breathless chuckle, Cullen grinned. “I suppose I do.”

“In all seriousness, I’d very much like to take Bull up on his offer. But I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Cullen.” Dorian said in a normal tone of voice.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” Cullen said, hoping he didn’t sound as green as he felt. “But, assuming we can be at least a little discreet, I’d like to try.”

“Discretion is my middle name,” Dorian said.

Cullen burst out laughing, then laughed even harder at the indignant look on Dorian’s face.

***

The knock on Dorian’s door sounded at three hours before midnight. “Ah, Bull,” he said, pulling the door open. “So glad you could make it.” Dorian locked the door behind the Qunari.

“Didn’t start without me, I hope,” Bull rumbled.

“I would never,” Dorian declared grandly. “Cullen just got here,”

The Commander sat on the edge of the bed, looking nervous. It was so endearing. “Bull,” he said politely.

“Cullen,” Bull grinned. “Aw, he’s all nervous.” Bull reached out and tousled his hair.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“You turn such a delightful shade of crimson, Commander,” Dorian noted. “It’s wonderful. Bull, since this whole nonsense was your idea, do you have any requests?”

The Qunari’s gaze was hungry as he looked at them both. “We’re going to need a watchword.”

“Ooh, how exotic,” Dorian drawled. “Pick one.”

“Katoh,” Bull said.

Cullen looked confused, poor dear. “What’s a watchword?”

Bull frowned at Dorian.

“We haven’t quite gotten to that point, Bull,” Dorian explained. “I didn’t want to scare the man away.” He turned to Cullen. “If you need to stop, for any reason, if anything feels wrong, or gets to be too much, say Katoh, instead of trying to explain that you want to stop or you want me to leave. It cuts down on confusion.”

The rapid fluttering of Cullen’s eyelids told Dorian the man was mentally running through the possible reasons one would need such a word. The way Cullen’s breath caught in his throat said he was very, very interested in finding out. The Commander nodded. “Katoh,” he repeated.

The scraping of the chair legs sounded behind Dorian. Bull had pulled the chair up and taken a seat. He hummed in appreciation. “I love watching them go under.”

Cullen looked confused, his hands twisting in his lap.

Dorian knelt in front of Cullen, taking the man’s hands to still them. “It’s all right, Cullen. I know you’re nervous. In a few minutes, you’ll be fine and this will all seem perfectly natural and fun, and if it’s not, we stop, simple as that. Do you trust me?”

The gorgeous amber eyes stared back at him. “I trust you,” Cullen said in a low voice.

The mage looked at him, watching the subtle shift in Cullen’s expression. By the Maker, it was beautiful. Between one instant and the next, the man’s gaze was suffused with trust. Cullen was his.

As it did every time he saw Cullen look at him that way, Dorian’s heart stuttered a bit. Surely, he’d done nothing in his life to deserve this faith. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days showing Cullen that his trust was well-placed. He reached up and ran his hand along the man’s jawline. “You want this?”

“Yes,” Cullen whispered. “Please.”

“Open,” Dorian said, tracing a finger down Cullen’s chin. He thrust three fingers into the man’s mouth. “Suck.”

Dorian moaned around a smile as Cullen obeyed. He wove the fingers of his free hand into the blond hair, pulling it, drawing a whimper from the Commander.

“Dorian, that is... damn,” Bull growled. "Gorgeous."

Pulling his fingers from Cullen’s mouth, Dorian sighed gratefully. “I know.” He leaned down and kissed Cullen, claiming the man’s mouth. “Take off your clothes,” he said, pulling away.

Cullen obeyed. Dorian turned to Bull as the Commander stripped. “I believe your skills with knots may come in handy,” he said, fetching some strips of silk from his dressing table. “At least, they seemed to have quite an effect on our Commander here when we were talking earlier. He quite lost control of himself during his afternoon bath.”

Bull grinned. “Did he now?”

“He did,” Dorian confirmed. “Quite naughty, in fact, touching himself where just anyone could walk in and see.”

Cullen had finished undressing. Dorian ran a finger down his chest. “We’d best tie his hands, Bull. Make sure he doesn’t do that again. Do you want Bull to tie you up?”

Cullen nodded eagerly.

The Qunari stood, looming over Cullen.  “Hands out,” he ordered. He deftly bound Cullen’s wrists together, leaving a loop of fabric hanging loose, like a handle.

He yanked Cullen’s arms over his head. The Commander stretched to his tiptoes, hissing with surprise but not resisting. “Good,” Bull said, letting go. “Where do you want him?”

“Hmm, on the bed, I think. By the headboard.” Dorian rose and began to take his clothes off.

Bull guided Cullen to sit with his back to the headboard. He looped the loose end of the bindings around the an arch carved into the center of the headboard. “He looks so pretty like this. Especially those lips,” Bull said, dragging a finger over Cullen’s scar.

“Show Bull what you can do with that gorgeous mouth, Chantry boy.” Dorian said, pulling of a boot and setting it to the side.

The Commander sucked Bull’s finger, moaning when it was joined by a second, then a third. Bull pushed in and out, fucking Cullen’s mouth with his fingers. “Damn, that feels good.”

Dorian came around to kneel behind Bull. As he had in the bath, he ran his fingers over the broad expanse of the Qunari’s back. Now, though, he was free to do more. He reached around to pull at Bull’s stiffening cock through the thin fabric of his trousers. Dorian smiled as he felt the man’s moan rumble against his ear. He spun around to look at Cullen. “Would you like to taste this, you think?”

Cullen was nodding even before Dorian had finished the question, bobbing his head around Bull’s fingers. Bull quickly undid his trousers, freeing himself. He knelt up, pulling Cullen’s mouth to his cock.

“Ahhh, fuck, that's good,” Bull groaned. He bucked his hips into Cullen’s moans. Dorian stood to one side, watching Cullen’s pale skin flush with the effort of taking Bull’s cock. Cullen looked up at him. Maker, the man was stunning.

Bull pulled away with a grunt. “Damn. I could do that all night.”

Cullen was panting slightly. “I think our Chantry boy needs a break,” Dorian said to Bull. “But perhaps we can keep ourselves entertained for a bit. Poor man’s been dreaming about me straddling you for months now. Might as well let him see it.” Dorian unhooked the bindings from the headboard; he might have need of those hands.

Bull chuckled. He sat on the foot of the bed, facing away from Cullen. Dorian once again wrapped himself around the Qunari. Cullen wasn’t the only one who’d spent months dreaming about this. Dorian had done his fair share of thinking about it. And from the way Bull groaned as he pulled Dorian to him, the Qunari had as well.

As before, Dorian buried his face in Bull’s neck, this time nibbling and sucking at the skin. He kept his eyes trained on Cullen as he began to rock his hips. Dorian moaned as his cock ground against Bull’s stomach.

“Fuck, Dorian,” Bull growled. “Damn. That's so good.”

Dorian felt Bull’s cock pressing underneath him. “Do you want to fuck me, Bull?” Dorian stared at Cullen as the words left his mouth.

Bull laughed. “Hell yes.”

Dorian leaned back and retrieved the oil from the dressing table. He felt Bull’s hands moving about behind him as he continued to roll his hips, watching Cullen. The Commander’s lips were parted and his breathing heavy, but intent, controlled.

And then Dorian gasped as Bull pressed a finger into him. “Oh, that's good,” he said. He fought to relax as Bull stretched him open. Two fingers felt like he’d never had sex in his life. Three felt impossible.

Bull growled in approval. “I’ve always wanted to see you on your hands and knees.”

Dorian laughed at the hint; he climbed down and arranged himself on the bed, a few feet from where Cullen watched. He felt Bull pressing into him, slow and firm. The mage panted, his eyes tight with effort, yet he could not look away from Cullen. The expression on his face was heart-stoppingly beautiful; it could have been described as angelic if it wasn’t in such a lewd context.

“Commander,” Bull said. “You like what you see?”

Cullen nodded, looking up to Bull’s face. And that's when Dorian saw it. Cullen’s expression when he looked at Bull was different. Submissive, and still clearly aroused, but it was the kind of cool, unemotional compliance a soldier gives a commanding officer. There was none of the adulation, the reverence that he gave to Dorian.

Bull grunted. Dorian wondered if he’d noticed the shift. Not much got by the Qunari. “Mmm, Cullen. Look at Dorian while I fuck him.” Clearly, Bull had noticed. Dorian felt breathless, suddenly, knowing that look was for him and him alone. Dorian pushed himself up so that his back was to Bull’s chest. The Qunari looped an arm around him, holding him steady.

Bull, meanwhile, leaned down to murmur into Dorian’s ear. “Dorian, it feels so good to fuck this ass. Damn, it is perfect. This ass was made for cock. Oh, fuck, it’s so good, the way you move, the way you’re taking me. So hot and tight. Damn, it’s so good.”

Dorian melted a little at the sound of Bull’s voice. “Fuck, _yes,_ Bull.” For a moment he closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of it. Dorian was tempted to let himself go in the pleasure of it all, but this wasn’t just for him. He opened his eyes. “Do you want me to come with Bull inside me?” Dorian’s voice was breathy, his gaze trained on Cullen’s face.

“Oh Maker, yes,” Cullen said. “Please.”

“Ah, that's good, that's so good.” Dorian panted. “I want you to suck me, Chantry boy. I need that mouth.”

Cullen crawled to him and obligingly opened his mouth. Dorian guided himself past the willing lips, biting back a groan. “Hold still,” he instructed.

Cullen looked up at him, his mouth relaxed. The look on his face was almost too much. Dorian was riding right on the edge. “Harder, Bull. Fuck me harder.”

Bull growled in approval and pounded into him. The motion was enough to drive Dorian into Cullen’s mouth; the thrusts were shallow, insistent.

“Ah, that's it, that's it,” Dorian wailed. “Yes, that's -” He groaned through gritted teeth, watching Cullen as he came, watching Cullen take all that was given. Behind him, Bull grunted in time to his thrusts, coming a moment later.

With a contented sigh, Dorian pulled Cullen up to a kneeling position, even as he slid off of Bull. He kissed Cullen languidly, tasting himself on those gorgeous lips. Cullen was gasping and moaning within seconds, almost frantic with need by this point.

“Now. What should we do with our devoted Commander?” Dorian smirked as he pulled away. “He’s been very good.”

“That he has,” Bull agreed.

Dorian stroked Cullen’s cheek gently. “So beautiful. Why don’t you show Bull how nicely you beg for me?” Dorian said. He retrieved the bottle of oil and slicked his hand, then tossed it to Bull.

Bull grinned and moved around to kneel to one side. He once again yanked Cullen’s hands over his head so that the man was just a bit off balance. Cullen bit back a whine. His beautiful cock must’ve been positively aching.

Dorian reached down traced one finger up the underside of his cock.

Cullen whimpered. “Please, please, I - ngh - I need it.” He gave a groaning gasp as Bull began to tease his opening with a finger.

“That’s very good, Chantry boy. What do you need?” Dorian slid his finger up and down the straining cock.

“I need - ah! - I need you to touch me,” Cullen said, staring into Dorian’s eyes.

Dorian wrapped his hand around the shaft and stroked slowly. Cullen whined again and began to tremble.

Bull was shaking his head, his face full of wonder. “Damn. You are so beautiful like this, Cullen.”

“Do you like this, Chantry boy? Does it feel good?” Dorian prompted.

“Oh, Maker, yes. Yes, please, it feels so good.”

“Maybe you want more?”

Cullen’s eyes were squinted almost shut. “Yes, oh, yes, please, more.”

“More what?” Dorian loved seeing Cullen like this. He wouldn’t ask for anything until Dorian insisted.

“More - ah! - in my ass,” he gasped.

Bull’s grin indicated that wouldn’t be an issue. Dorian couldn’t see what the Qunari was doing, but by the way Cullen squealed and shuddered, he could guess.

“Mmm, that's very nice, watching you take Bull’s fingers like that.” He stroked Cullen in time to Bull’s motions. Cullen was moaning continuously now, trembling from head to toe. “Are you close, Commander? Do you want to come?”

“Yes - ngh - pleaseplease, I’m - ah! - I’m so close. Please, please let me come. Please.”

“So beautiful,” Dorian breathed. He cradled Cullen’s cheek with his free hand, gazing at him, gently running his thumb over his skin. “Come on, that's it, it’s going to feel so good,” he urged. “Let me see you come.”

Cullen’s moan was almost a shout as he erupted, pushing his hips back on Bull as much as his limited range of motion would allow. He fell forward on to Dorian’s shoulder when Bull let go, heaving gasping sobs and trembling.

Bull caught Dorian’s eye as he leaned back. He was shaking his head in disbelief and smiling. Dorian’s answering grin was grateful.

For a few moments, Cullen rested on him, collecting his breath. Finally he leaned back, a slightly goofy smile on his face. “I’m pretty sure that shouldn’t be legal,” Cullen said. “It feels much too good to be allowed.”

“Ah, the Chantry’s teachings. Where would we be without them,” Dorian smirked. “Thanks, Bull.”

“Only too happy to help,” Bull said, stretching slightly. He rose and pulled on his trousers. “Let me know if you want another round someday.” He closed the door behind him.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Dorian asked.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Cullen said.


	13. Failure and Cowardice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's not good with jealousy.

Dorian’s field missions appeared to be never-ending. He was dragged over half of Thedas and back: the Hissing Wastes, then the Fallow Mire, then the Western Approach. The Inquisitor invariably asked Dorian to join her. She could hardly be blamed for her good taste. Still, it seemed dreadfully unfair to be forced to share a tent with Blackwall while Trevelyan enjoyed whatever carnal pleasures Sera apparently offered. Night. After night. After night.

“Why can’t Bull come with us?” Dorian had whined to her finally. Her answer was most unsatisfactory. _Needed with the Chargers, my ass,_ he thought. Krem could handle almost anything. It was horrible. Torture, really.

Finally _(finally!)_ they rode through the gates to Skyhold at noon after almost a month in the field. Dorian got his mount settled at the stables and practically ran up the steps to the Great Hall. A commotion in the practice ring caught his attention from the landing.

A crowd was hooting and hollering as two shirtless combatants circled each other in unarmed combat. It was none other than Bull and Cullen. _Oh my._ This definitely warranted a closer look.

Dorian made his way through the throng. The warriors were laughing, both coated in dust from tumbling to the ground, the sweat trickling rivulets across their muscles as they lunged at each other. First Bull caught Cullen in a shoulder lock, then Cullen twisted himself to trap Bull in a leg hold. It was entrancing, all those muscles flexing and writhing about.

Finally, they rose, Bull’s arm around Cullen’s shoulder as the crowd cheered. They staggered out of the ring. Dorian was caught up in the crowd, trying to make his way over to the men resting in the shade of the tavern. Bull sat on a bench. He took a swig from a waterskin and offered it to Cullen. Bull reached out and clapped the man on the shoulder, rubbing his thumb on Cullen’s arm. The Commander grinned and glanced at Bull, the kind of look Dorian thought he recognized. The Qunari’s hand was still on Cullen’s bicep. Cullen said something, and he was definitely looking at Bull _That Way._ The way that Dorian had been dreaming about for a month. The way that told him Cullen was _his._

Dorian’s steps faltered. What was going on? Had they... was this.... Before he could finish the thought, Bull had pulled Cullen close, yanking him playfully down on to his lap, burying his face into the blond’s hair.

The mage had never truly experienced jealousy before. He’d never gotten to the point where he cared. So he was completely unprepared for the vacuum that imploded in his chest, pulling the air from his lungs and the light from his eyes.

He turned and strode quickly away, still hidden in the dispersing crowd. Vishante kaffas. How could he have been so naive to think that Cullen would remain faithful? It’s not as if they’d talked about it, exactly, but, well, it was understood, wasn’t it? And Bull. He’d had been so insistent that he was only interested in Dorian and Cullen together. Well. That changed quickly enough.

Dorian went to his quarters to change, then headed to the library. He’d promised the Inquisitor that he would write up the results of the lyrium treatment for publication. No time like the present.

***

Cullen staggered out of the practice ring, leaning on Bull. “I haven’t sparred without a weapon since I trained,” he said. “I forgot how much fun it was.”

“See?” Bull said, taking a pull from the waterskin. He handed it to Cullen, wiping his mouth with his arm. “Told you.”

“We’ll have to do it again when I’m less distracted,” Cullen grinned.

“You really miss him, don’t you?” Bull reached out and stroked Cullen’s arm.

“I do. It’s been difficult, this time apart.” Cullen’s gaze was suddenly far away, tied up in the remembrance of gray eyes and a wicked smile. He snapped himself out of it. “Which reminds me. Bull, you really need to be more careful where you put the marks on William. It does nothing to help me concentrate, knowing how he got them.”

“Ah, now the truth comes out. You want another go, the three of us? Dorian’s due back today.”

“I don’t know....” Cullen frowned, pretending to consider. “It’s not as if I’ve been thinking about it constantly.”

Bull yanked Cullen into his lap, laughing. The Qunari pretended to take a bite out of Cullen’s hair.

“Let go of me,” Cullen laughed. He looked up. “Inquisitor, you’re back,” Cullen scrambled to rise, giving her a hasty salute.

Trevelyan snorted. “Commander.”

Cullen frowned. “Where’s Dorian?”

The Inquisitor shrugged. “He was headed inside last I saw him.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cullen said. “I... ah... I need to....”

“Just go, Cullen. You don’t have to make up a reason.”

The Commander looked high and low for Dorian. He wasn’t in his quarters, or Cullen’s, nor in the baths. Finally he checked the library.

The mage was scribbling away at a piece of parchment. “Commander,” he said, not looking up.

Cullen froze. Something was very, very wrong. “Dorian?”

“Yes, what is it?” The mage looked up at him, clearly annoyed.

“I... I’m glad to see you,” Cullen said. Maker’s breath, what was going on? It felt like a nightmare.

“Are you?” Dorian turned back to his parchment. “Now that you’re done playing with Bull, you mean?”

Was this one of Dorian’s games? It didn’t feel like one. They’d been apart almost a month. Cullen had been aching to see him, and now it felt like his world was very slowly collapsing. “Yes, of course I am.”

“You certainly have a funny way of showing it,” Dorian said, scratching his quill across the scroll.

“I....” The words died in Cullen’s throat. He felt a prickling in his sinuses. He took a deep breath. Cullen wasn’t about to weep like a child. He turned and left. He had work to do.

The problem with tears is that they can be delayed, but not avoided. Cullen got through the afternoon, bashing through reports at a rapid pace. Soon, though, the distraction was no longer enough. Sharp pangs of sadness were threatening to overtake him. He dismissed William for the day and went to find Bull. Maybe he’d know what was going on.

***

Dorian worked into the evening. When he finally made his way to the dining hall to see if there were any scraps from dinner, the place was deserted. Dorian scavenged an apple and a hard heel of cheese from the sideboard and pulled a chair up to the fire.

So this is what betrayal felt like. Not his favorite, truth be told. Now that Dorian wasn’t concentrating on his research notes, a swelling tide of anguish was rising inside him, his memory swirling over and over with a picture of Cullen, that look of devotion on his face, laughing with delight, tumbling into Bull’s lap.

Footsteps approached from behind, and then the sound of another chair being dragged up to the fire. Bull heaved himself down, facing Dorian. “You wanna tell me why Cullen’s crying his eyes out in my room?”

“Maybe he forgot his watchword,” Dorian said, not meeting his eyes. “Did you spank him too hard?”

Bull pinched the bridge of his nose. “What the hell’s going on, Dorian?”

“You tell me,” the mage said. As if he’d admit anything to Bull.

The Qunari was looking at him carefully. A few seconds ticked by. Finally, the huge man snorted derisively. “You think Cullen was unfaithful. Fuck, Dorian, it’d almost be funny if his heart wasn’t broken.”

“I know what I saw,” Dorian sneered. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he _looked_ at you. I saw him in your lap.”

“He had that look because we were talking about _you._ And how many times did Cullen see you with me? In the baths, in bed? You’re lucky he’s more trusting than you are. If he leapt to conclusions the way you do, you’d never have been with him at all.” Bull shook his head. “You know, all those months ago, it was you crying into my shoulder. And what you don’t realize is that Cullen saw you. He was right behind you.”

Dorian blinked. “Lies,” he said. “I’d have known if he was there.” Inwardly, he realized he was wrong. Cullen had snuck up on him before. When he wasn’t wearing his armor the man was silent as a cat. Or a lion.

Bull fixed him with a look of pity, then he stood, shaking his horns. “I hope you realize you’re wrong soon. Because if you think Cullen is anything less than utterly devoted to you, you’re an idiot. And if you think I would poach him, then maybe we’re not friends after all.”

***

Cullen lay in his bed, shivering. It was a cold night, and a few flakes of snow were drifting through the gaps in the canvas patching his roof. Bull had confronted Dorian. Apparently the mage was under the impression that Cullen had been unfaithful. He’d laughed when the Qunari told him, long past the tears that had taken him earlier. He’d spent the rest of the evening swinging between sadness and anger, back and forth, back and forth.

Now he was simply numb. There was nothing he could do about it, after all. Dorian had made up his mind; there was no changing it.

After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, he gave up. Flinging the covers back, Cullen got dressed. A turn or two along the battlements would tire him out enough to sleep. He bundled himself in his cloak and strode out into the night.

***

Dorian stared into the fire for a long time, the core of the apple still in his hand. Maybe Bull was right. Perhaps it was possible that Cullen _actually was_ faithful. Perhaps Bull _actually was_ his friend. What he’d ever done to be worthy of such companionship was beyond him. It seemed much more likely to him that everything had been a lie.  

Dorian tossed the apple core into the fire. He had to know for sure.

There was no light coming from Cullen’s tower. The door was open, as always; the man never locked it. Dorian crept inside. “Cullen?” he called up the ladder. When there was no response, he climbed up.

The bed was empty. _Well._ There was his answer. A wave of nauseating despair washed through him. Dorian had been right to trust his fears, apparently. Cullen was sleeping elsewhere. Bull said he’d been crying in his room. He was probably still there.

The anguish gave way to rage, the kind that burned clean, the kind that emptied one of all thought, filled the mind with white-hot purpose. Dorian slid down the ladder, walking with a detached calm across the keep, to Bull’s quarters.

The mage’s heart was pounding out of his chest; his fingertips felt cold and tingly as he reached the door. Dorian stood for a moment, listening to the sounds coming from within. Bull was unmistakably fucking the living daylights out of Cullen; Dorian heard squeals of pleasure through what sounded like a gag.

The betrayal felt inevitable, the way the sunrise feels inevitable after a long night of utter, bleakest despair - not a reminder of hope and renewal, but the realization that things are only going to get worse. Because of course it had been silly of Dorian to think he deserved to be happy with Cullen, or to be friends with Bull. The whole thing had been ridiculous. He should have known from the start. Why on earth had he let his guard down enough to care for them?

He opened the door; it didn’t occur to him not to. Dorian knew what he would see, of course, but he’d come this far. He needed to see that look on Cullen’s face, needed to know it wasn’t just for him. Not anymore.

Bull was humping the man against the wall. He hadn’t even taken his trousers off, just pulled them down a little. A set of pale arms and legs was clearly visible, though the body was hidden by Bull’s massive girth.

Dorian collapsed with a strangled sob.

“What the -?” Bull turned around. “Dorian?”

Dorian looked up. His heart stopped. It wasn’t Cullen. It was William, the young redhead he’d introduced Bull to all those months ago.

The mage started to laugh. Bull yanked him up by the arm dragged him into the hall, slamming the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“Cullen wasn’t in his bed, and - you said he was here, so I -” Tears began to spill from Dorian’s eyes unheeded, not from sadness, but from sheer emotional overload. He dashed them away. “Bull, I’m so sorry,” Dorian whispered, laughing a bit.

“Damn, Dorian. You are a mess. Go find Cullen. You can buy me and my little redhead a drink tomorrow to make up for it.” Bull growled.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Dorian said again.

“It’s okay,” Bull said, sincerely. “Now get the hell out of here.”

***

Cullen frowned as he rounded the wall. A figure was curled up in the doorway to the tower, huddled in a cloak. The swirling snow had begun to collect in the folds of the cloth. “Dorian?”

With a snort, the bundle jerked awake and Dorian’s face emerged from under the cloak. “Cullen. I - I came to apologize.” Dorian’s teeth were chattering.

“Why on earth didn’t you wait inside?” Cullen said, helping the man to rise.

“I got into some trouble earlier, barging in to places I wasn’t wanted.” Dorian said, leaning on Cullen, the scent of exotic spice surrounding him.

Cullen sighed in exasperation. He was tired, and frankly more than a little angry at Dorian. But there was no way the man would get warm enough in the cold tower to stave off hypothermia, and Cullen wasn’t about to donate his own body heat to the cause. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.” It was still an hour until midnight. He led Dorian to the Herald’s Rest.

The place was almost deserted. The stragglers that remained were gathered in dark corners, and more than a few heads were resting on tabletops. Cullen bundled the mage into a chair directly in front of the fire before heading to the bar. “Brandy, Cabot,” he said. “Whatever’s left in the bottle, that's fine.”

Back at the fire, Cullen uncorked the bottle with his teeth and handed it to Dorian, pulling another chair close.

Dorian took a swig. “Is this the part where I grovel for your forgiveness, which would be completely and utterly undeserved?”

“I thought begging was my job.” Cullen sat next to him heavily. “Maker, I’m tired. I’ve been walking for hours.” He held his hand out. Dorian passed the bottle. “I hate brandy,” the Commander said after taking a drink, handing it back.

The mage took another drink, no doubt waiting to hear whether his apology had been accepted. Cullen wasn’t sure, himself. “I talked to Bull,” Cullen said at last, looking into the fire. “He told me what you said. Do you really think so little of me, that your first assumption was that I strayed?”

Dorian grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, Cullen, that's not it. That's not it at _all._ I thought you strayed because I don’t deserve your affection, much less your trust and devotion.” He sighed heavily, taking another drink from the bottle. “And I was so completely wrong, about everything, and somehow that just proves my point. I don’t deserve you, amatus. I don’t.”

Cullen held his hand out for the brandy. He took a swig and coughed a bit, wiping his lips with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you remember, in the Shrine of Dumat, how I came to your tent, knowing you’d be cold?

“Er, yes, of course.” Dorian sounded confused.

“Do you know why I realized you’d be cold?” He handed the bottle back to Dorian.

Dorian shook his head.

“Knight-Commander Meredith used to have us keep the mage’s quarters frigid. To deter any unnecessary use of magic, she said. One winter we had four mages lose toes to frostbite. They’d tried to keep the others warm.”

“By the Maker, that's....” The disgust on Dorian’s face was apparent. “I knew things were bad in Kirkwall, but I didn’t think people were losing appendages.”

Cullen was shaking his head. “You don’t understand. The frostbite was held as proof that they’d used unauthorized magic. They were made Tranquil.”

Dorian almost dropped the bottle of brandy. “What did you do?” His voice was sharp.

“Nothing,” Cullen whispered. “Absolutely nothing. By doing my duty, I failed them. I’ll never, ever make up for the things I let happen. There is no redemption for me, Dorian.”

The mage was staring into the fire, his face numb, blank.

“So,” Cullen said. “I find it hard to believe that you’ve done anything in your life that would make you undeserving of the love of a failure such as myself.”

“Cullen, I -” Dorian blinked. “Wait. What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Cullen said gently.

Dorian was staring at him, his expression teetering between adoration and anguish.

Cullen was worn out. The anger, the despair, it had been too much for one night. He felt empty. With a sigh, he started to rise.

“I’m a coward,” Dorian blurted.

“What?”

“You asked why I’m undeserving. I’m a coward.” Dorian said, almost in a whisper.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Are you forgetting that I’ve seen you fight? You’re no coward.”

“I am,” Dorian insisted. “Just because I’m willing to fight for the Inquisition doesn’t make me brave. It’s just the right thing to do.”

Cullen shut his eyes. He wasn’t buying it. This was just a way to stall, to make Cullen feel pity and therefore more likely to accept Dorian’s apology. Still, the chance that Dorian was being sincere gave him pause. “We are definitely going to need more brandy.”  

He heaved himself out of the chair and fetched it, along with glasses. He poured one for Dorian. “And how, pray tell, are you a coward, Dorian Pavus?”

Dorian took the glass. He sipped it and winced. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage: perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader.”

“Are you going to tell me they succeeded and can stop now? Is that what that means?”

Dorian shook his head angrily. “It means every perceived flaw, every aberration, is deviant and shameful. It must be _hidden.”_ His voice was hard now, sharp.

“What flaw? What are you talking about?” Cullen said, baffled.

Dorian just looked at him. Cullen saw anger there, and shame, and defiance.

With a confused blink, Cullen suddenly understood. “So, that's a big concern in Tevinter, then? Who you sleep with?”

“Oh, you’re allowed to indulge yourself in private, surely. But I refused to put on a show, marry the girl. I didn’t want to live my life screaming on the inside. Selfish, I know. And when my father found out, he... tried to change me.” Dorian’s voice caught on the word _change._

Knots of dread began to twist in Cullen’s stomach. “Change you? How?”

“He’s a magister, how do you think?” Dorian snapped. Then he chuckled. “It’s funny. He always taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of a weak mind’, he called it. Anyway, I found out. I left.”

Cullen took a large gulp of his drink. “I’m still not seeing the cowardice, Dorian.”

“I _left._ Ran away. Snuck out in the night like a thief.” Dorian looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “I could’ve stayed. Fought for what I knew was right. Defied my father openly, made an example of myself, tried to change things. But I didn’t. The Venatori were a convenient excuse to stay away.” He drained his glass and set it down. “A lifetime of being a pariah did not make me strong, but weak. You, at least, are making up for your mistakes. What am I doing to face my fear? Nothing. So you see why I don’t deserve you, amatus.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes fall closed. So much made sense, now. Except one thing. He jerked his eyes open. “What does amatus mean?”

Dorian straightened out of his slouch. “What?”

“Amatus. You said it.”

“Did I?” There was a touch of panic around the mage’s eyes.

“Twice, in fact,” Cullen pointed out.

Dorian looked at the remaining liquor his glass and drained it in one swallow. “It means.... It means _my beloved,”_ he said, the words tumbling out in a rush.

The warmth that flooded through Cullen had little to do with the fire or the brandy. A flush rose in his cheeks. “Is that so?” he said quietly. “I think... I think I like the sound of that.” He looked over at Dorian. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

Dorian jerked a nod, apparently still panicked by his use of the term of endearment.

Cullen leaned into his ear, his lips just barely tracing the skin of Dorian’s jaw. “We should go,” he breathed. “Unless you want to have me right here.”

The tension seemed to melt out of Dorian. He turned, leaning into Cullen for a kiss, just on this side of frantic with need. Cullen fought the urge to laugh; Dorian was uncomfortable with public displays of affection of any sort. Of course, now Cullen understood why that was. It must have taken a lot for the man to offer his kiss in front of anyone else.

Cabot cleared his throat very loudly.

Dorian blushed, but there was the hint of a smile on his face. “Of course, amatus. Lead the way.”


	14. Make a Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral might be the most romantic place Cullen and Dorian have ever seen. Now, if they could just find the words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP I just realized I never posted the last chapter to this. Oops. Er, sorry.

“Well, Sparkler? What do you think of the Winter Palace?” Varric rode his pony up alongside the Dorian and Cullen. They had rounded a crest and now were in view of Halamshiral, glowing in the sunset.

Dorian gave a haughty sigh. “Beautiful enough, I suppose. In a gaudy way. _Orlesians._ Leave it to them to take something as flawless as elven architecture and tart it up.”

From behind them, Blackwall snorted. “Might not want to say that within earshot of Vivienne. Or Solas.”

“Oh, psh,” Dorian dismissed the Warden with a flippant wave. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Although I am looking forward to the wine. And the cheeses. Orlesians do know their way around cheese, I’ll grant them that. What are you most looking forward to at the ball, my dear Commander?” Dorian asked.

Cullen rolled his shoulders. “I’m looking forward to it being over, followed closely by holding back the spectre of chaos throughout Orlais.”

“Not a fan of cheese, then?” Dorian said mildly.

Varric laughed. “Sparkler, I love you, you know that, right?”

“I would be bereft without your sass, my friend. Utterly bereft,” Dorian agreed.

Dorian was well acquainted with the hurry-up-and-wait that preceded court galas. He relaxed into the bustle, growing more and more calm as everyone around him rushed to find lost gloves, adjust sashes, affix medals of honor, and smooth their hair. The Commander, it seemed, was not adapted to the rush, and began to glower as he watched the functionaries and inner circle trip over each other. Dorian sauntered over and straightened the sash under Cullen’s epaulet.

“Cullen, you look positively miserable. Do buck up. It’ll be over before you know it.” Dorian murmured.

“Will it? I already feel as if I’ve wasted half my life waiting.” Cullen frowned, looking over Dorian’s shoulder at the milling crowd. “What is the hold up, anyway?”

“Waiting’s all part of the game,” Dorian smiled. “Heightens the anticipation. I thought you were more than a little familiar with the concept, _Commander?”_

Cullen’s eyes swiveled to Dorian, his lips parted ever so slightly. Absolutely enchanting, the way he focused on Dorian at the slightest change in timbre. Dorian reached up and patted his cheek. He leaned close. “You look positively delicious, Cullen. Perhaps we’ll get to spend some time together later, once the assassin is exposed. Would you like that?”

The Commander cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” Dorian smiled brightly. “Something for you to look forward to, then.”

The introductions were interminable. Cassandra’s name alone took several hours to announce. Or at least that's what it felt like. And then there were speeches. Finally, they were released into the ball like exotic birds.

Not that many were clambering to talk to the mage from Tevinter. He might as well have been an elf. Even Varric was having an easier time getting people to talk. Dorian wandered the palace for what seemed like hours until he spotted Bull in one of the side wings, eating nuts out of a dainty bowl and somehow managing to make this look intimidating. “Hello, The Iron Bull,” Dorian drawled. “Only you could make eating canapes look so deadly.”

“You want some? They’re spicy.” Bull held the bowl out to him.

Dorian raised a hand to decline. He did, however, liberate a glass of wine from a passing butler. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Bull snorted. “The nobles are messing with me, thinking I don’t realize they’re doing it.” He got a dangerous glare in his eye. “Still, there’s a redhead that's walked through twice. Think I might try to get her mask off later.”

Dorian sighed. “Ah me, but I miss the days of assignations in coat closets. So delightfully straightforward.”

“I’m sure Cullen’ll be up for some closet time once this is over,” Bull smirked.

“Oh yes. Yes he will. Still...” Dorian sighed, then drank half his glass in one gulp.

Bull looked at him in surprise. “Something wrong between you? Not because of the other night I hope.”

“Oh, no no. No, that, my dear Bull, was....” _More than I wanted. More than I deserve. Terrifying and wonderful and I never want it to end._  

Bull just watched him. After a moment, he spoke around a mouthful of nuts. “You gonna finish that thought anytime today, or should I guess?”

Dorian sighed. “I hate it when you guess. Because you’re not really guessing, are you? You’ve used some ungodly Ben-Hassrath tricks to read my mind, haven’t you?”

Bull shrugged. “Not much of a trick. I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you looked back.”

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered, draining his wine. “I’ll have you know -”

Whatever the thought was, it was lost in the commotion. Empress Celene had been assassinated.

***

It was much later when Cullen finally caught up to Dorian. He spied the mage standing by the fountain in the courtyard, gazing into the sparkling water with a thoughtful look on his face and a glass of wine in this hand. Cullen took a moment to breathe deep. Declarations of loyalty, of service, of fealty came quite easily to him. He was a soldier, after all. But declarations of affection were another thing altogether.

Still. He had to say something. He _had_ to.  He felt like the words were now hiding just behind his teeth, waiting to leap out at any second. He’d come so close, so many times. And what better place to say them than a beautiful palace on a romantic night? Isn’t that what people did? He tugged his uniform straight and strode up to Dorian. “There you are,” Cullen smiled. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“And you’ve found me, Commander.” Dorian said. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Everything all right?” Cullen was surprised by the change in demeanor - Dorian had seemed quite happy with the frippery of the ball earlier. Cullen suddenly had doubts. There had, after all, been an assassination. Perhaps now wasn’t the time or place.

Dorian inhaled carefully. “Just thinking of home. This could almost be a party in the Imperium. Minus a bit of blood magic, of course.” Cullen had known Dorian long enough to realize the easy smile was a mask.

“Lots of assassinations at Imperium soirees, are there?” Cullen joked.

“Oh, at least one,” Dorian said with mock seriousness. “You’ve got to have _one,_ or the party’s a failure. Though I have to say, by Tevene standards, tonight’s proceedings were not terribly exciting. A stabbing in the ballroom? Amateurish.”

Cullen chuckled. “And the pitched battle thereafter?”

“Pfft,” Dorian scoffed. “Trevelyan’s a force of nature. The Duchess was merely a scheming Orlesian with an over-inflated sense of her own importance. Just like all the rest.” He took a sip of his wine. “She had good hair, though.” His gaze returned to the water.

“You seem a tad distracted,” Cullen noted. The romance of the moment seemed to be ebbing away.

Dorian chuckled, still looking at the water. “All those caprice coins. Every one of them a wish. Just thinking about... well.” He lifted his head and blinked as if coming out of a fog. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Cullen said quietly. He waited. Dorian always talked eventually.

“I was thinking about the wishes I used to make when I was a teenager. When I found out... what a disappointment I was going to be. For a little while there, I wished for nothing more than to be someone I wasn’t. I can’t even imagine how many coins I tossed into our well. There’s a small fortune down there,” he laughed. “Nothing but childhood wishes gone astray.”

***

Dorian hadn’t wanted to blather on about home. He wanted to say... something. About how he felt. However that was. Some sort of, well, statement of fondness. They’d been dancing around it for a while now. It was the thing to do, surely? Just come right out and say... _something._ But somehow Dorian had started thinking about the past and it all just came dribbling from his mouth. The most romantic night he’d probably ever have with Cullen and Dorian had mucked it up by going on about his daddy issues. Fasta vass.

Cullen pulled the coin his brother had given him from his pocket and was staring at it thoughtfully.

“What are you doing?” Dorian looked from the coin to his face.

“Making a wish,” Cullen said.

“What? You idiot, don’t do -”

It was too late. Cullen tossed it into the fountain. It plunked into the water, sinking to the bottom, where it became all but indistinguishable from the other coins.

“Why did you do that?” Dorian wheeled on him.

Cullen shrugged. “What’s one coin? As I recall, _you_ didn’t want it.”

Dorian was crestfallen. “I can’t believe you did that.” What on earth could possibly have been so important to the man, that he’d just toss such a precious thing away so casually? “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you the wish, it won’t come true,” Cullen grinned. “Now, I believe I was promised some alone time? Or do I have to beg?”

Dorian laughed and shook his head. He was still too shocked to chide Cullen about topping from the bottom. Apparently this was not the time for heartfelt declarations. Ah well. He led Cullen to a dark portico lining the garden. The small door at the end opened to a storeroom. Not large, but it had a lock.

“After you, Commander,” Dorian said with a smile.

Cullen had barely stepped into the small room when Dorian took his mouth for a kiss. The mage’s hands were everywhere, taking possession of Cullen. And then Dorian was pushing him down to the floor, palming his stiffening cock through the fabric of his trousers.

The mage rolled Cullen to his back and climbed astride him. “We have to be quiet,” he said, whispering into Cullen’s ear. “Can you be quiet for me?” They didn’t really need to be quiet, of course. Sounds of debauchery were coming from all parts of the garden. But Dorian knew Cullen liked to do what he was told, almost as much as Dorian liked to be the one giving the commands.

Cullen nodded. Dorian rocked against him, slow, languid. “Good,” Dorian breathed into his ear. “Good.” Then Dorian kissed him again, his lips and tongue as slow and lazy as his hips.

For several moments they stayed like that. Dorian began to whisper, holding Cullen’s cheek with one hand while staring into his eyes.

“When we get back to Skyhold, I want you to fuck me,” he said. “Do you think you want to do that? Do you think you - ah! - can fuck me?”

Cullen gave a shuddering gasp. “Yes. Oh, yes,” he whispered.

Dorian changed the pace of the rutting - no quicker, but the thrusting was more forceful. “I’d like that. Have you fucked a man before?”

The commander shook his head. “No. Only... only women.”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “I think you’ll like it. I think you’ll like taking me. Have you imagined it? Have you - ngh - thought about it? Did you stroke yourself, think about how it would feel? Did you come, imagining you were inside me?” The bucking of his hips was now a bit faster.

Cullen gritted his teeth, biting back the moan that threatened to escape. “Maker, yes.”

“I’ve thought - ah! ah! - I’ve thought about it too. Only I’m never alone in the field. So I just have to lie in my tent, aching for you, lying there - ungh - hard, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Dorian said.

The pressure of his cock straining against the fabric was a kind of sweet torture. He could feel Cullen sliding against him, but it wasn’t enough to provide any release. He needed more.

“I can’t wait to watch your face,” Dorian continued. “To see you stretch me open with... with your fingers, twisting inside me.” Dorian was now rutting quickly, his hips grinding in a sinuous motion, giving them both what they needed.

“Oh, yes, I want that,” Cullen whispered. “Dorian, it feels so good.”

“Imagine how good it’ll feel when you press that gorgeous cock into me for the first time. Ah, fuck, it’s going to be so good. I can’t wait to see your eyes when you slide into me,” Dorian breathed. “Are you close?”

“Oh sweet Maker, yes,” Cullen’s whisper had an edge to it.

“Shh, shh, we have to be quiet. You can be quiet for me, right? While you think about fucking me, hard - ah - so hard, like I want it? While you think about how good it’ll feel to fill me with your cock?”

Dorian could tell Cullen was right at the edge now. The effort to not make any sound was the only thing that kept the man from finishing.

“Breathe,” Dorian ordered. “That’s it. Oh yes. You’re going to make me come. Ah - yes, that's it, yes, _yes.”_

Dorian grabbed Cullen’s hips as they juddered in release. He gritted his teeth, hissing his own finish, a stream of whispered curses tumbling from his lips as he bucked, hard.

Dorian immediately rolled off of him, fumbling with the laces on Cullen’s trousers, yanking down his waistband and lick away the mess before it soaked the fabric. At the same time Dorian’s hands were moving in his own trousers; a second later he held his hand up to Cullen’s mouth. He sucked Dorian’s fingers eagerly, lapping at the mage’s spend.

With a satisfied sigh, Dorian flopped down on the floor next to him. He reached down and held Cullen’s hand, interlacing their fingers. The cold of the marble started to seep into him. “We should get back.” Dorian said finally. “They’ll miss us soon.”

Cullen rose and stretched. “I suppose you’re right.”

They had barely stepped foot back in the garden when Vivienne accosted them. “Darlings, there you are. No, don’t tell me where you’ve been. Commander, you’re needed in the main ballroom. Gaspard is asking for you by name. No doubt he wants to trade war stories.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and left.

Cullen sighed.

“I’ll be right here, Commander,” Dorian promised.

Dorian watched the Commander walk away. He sat on the lip of the fountain.

For a good half-hour, he sat, deep in thought. How do people normally do this, he wondered. Poetry was out. Cullen already had a book, given him by someone else. Flowers or some such? Thanks to Cole, that was also not an option.

A gift. _Vishante kaffas,_ he was practically sitting on it. The coin. Dorian turned his attention to the fountain. “Now, how best to find it, that's the question,” he muttered to himself, pulling off his gloves.

Dorian sat on the lip of the fountain and fished out a caprice coin to examine. It was mostly steel, as he’d suspected. Even the Orlesians weren’t that free with silver. He shook the water from his hand and stood.

With casual confidence, Dorian waved his hand. All of the coins rose from the pool at once, shimmering, hanging in the air like motionless fireflies. Another flick of the wrist and the pool froze solid. Dorian calmly stepped on to the lip of the fountain. He raised his hands and a reddish energy coalesced through his fingers.

Dorian dragged his hand through the swarm of coins. The metal drew itself to his fingers, the coins clinking together edge to edge, trailing after his hand. Dorian drew together perhaps a half-dozen coins, then flicked his palm to the ground as if shaking water from his hand. The coins tumbled to land on the ice.

“Maker’s breath,” he heard Cullen say from behind him.

Dorian yelped and spun around. He fell gracelessly as his foot slipped out from under him. All of the coins fell to the ice. So much for his gift.

Cullen reached a hand down to help him up. “What are you doing?”

Grumbling, Dorian hauled himself up. “Making a fool of myself, apparently.”

Cullen‘s eyes were wide and shining. “Can you do it again? It was so beautiful.”

Dorian regarded the man. Cullen didn’t seem to be mocking him. Dorian flicked his wrist, sending the coins into the air once again, spinning and shimmering. The Commander gasped, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. “It’s like... fireflies,” he said.

By Andraste, the man was just so charmingly beautiful. Dorian’s heart melted a bit to see the unguarded look of wonder on Cullen’s face. He stepped back to the lip of the fountain and re-focused his magic. The coins followed his fingertips, jingling.

“What... what did you do?” Cullen breathed, watching the pattern of coins swirling around Dorian’s hand.

“I magnetized my hand,” Dorian said calmly. He looked back at Cullen. “Would you like to try?”

Cullen swallowed hard. Dorian realized he was probably terrified at some level. He’d cast magic around Cullen, or at him, but the man had probably never felt it actually focused through his body. Still, he moved slowly and deliberately, stepping on to the edge of the fountain. When their palms met, Cullen gasped.

“You all right?”

“Yes,” Cullen whispered. He reached his free hand out and touched a coin. It stuck to his finger. Then another, and another. A delighted laugh bubbled through him as he traced patterns through the coins. Dorian grinned and gathered a few more handfuls to himself. They stepped on to the ice, waving their hands as the sparkling coins followed like ducklings.

He could feel Cullen looking at him. “What? What is it?” Dorian asked.

“You,” Cullen said. “Surrounded by wishes, it’s... it’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Dorian had to say it. It was welling up inside him. “Cullen, I... I....” He stood there for a moment, his mouth open, blinking. “There it is!” he crowed, looking over Cullen’s shoulder. He waved his hand in a huge loop over his head. All the coins save one whirled around him and fell to the ice.

A single silver coin floated in the air, spinning slowly. Dorian reached out and grabbed it. “Yours, I believe.” He held the coin out to Cullen.

Smiling, Cullen curled the mage’s fingers around the coin. “Keep it. You were going to say something, I believe?”

“Kiss him! Go on!” A shout rang out from the balcony above them. It was the Inquisitor, standing there with Sera, Bull, Cole, and Varric. How long had _they_ been watching?

“Lay one on him, Sparkler!” the dwarf yelled.

“Lay one what?” Cole asked.

“This is intolerable,” Dorian grumbled, trying to walk away. He felt a kind of sour disappointment curdling in his stomach. The moment had been so perfect, finally, but now? Knowing there was an audience? Well, that was just unacceptable.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Cullen said, pulling him back by the hand. “I never disobey a direct order.” He kissed Dorian, laughing. Applause rained down on them from the balcony. Cullen whispered in his ear. “Dorian, I... I don’t know how to say this. I think... I... Maker’s breath, why is it so hard to tell you I love you?”

Dorian choked out a kind of gasping laugh. “You took the words out of my mouth,” he said, drawing Cullen in for another kiss. It was all well and good until Dorian lost his concentration and they found themselves suddenly calf-deep in tepid water. The applause from the balcony turned to hoots of laughter, now augmented as even more of the members of the inner circle that had wandered by to watch.

Cullen was laughing too.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered, regarding his sodden footwear. “And these boots looked so good on me, too.”

“I’ll buy you another pair,” Cullen said. “Now that I’ve got my wish.”


End file.
